


Underlying Side Stories

by magalina



Series: Underlying Series [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magalina/pseuds/magalina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty self-explanatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One in Which They Sort of Go On a Date

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, as promised, I'll post a few of the side stories for Underlying here. The most relevant ones were added to the main text, so I don't really have much to put here. Plus, I wasn't very organized with them and I keep finding little, unfinished drabbles all over the place. Let me know if you remember one that you'd like to see!

(Set somewhere between chapters 29 and 30)

-

When Rogers first brought it up, Mark screamed. But only in his head, because he had gotten really good at acting like he didn’t care about what he looked like to other people when maybe he still cared a _little_.

He had been dreading that moment ever since three weeks before, when Rogers, Dan and Jessica had a talk about the most popular places in town to go to during the weekends. Mark, sitting slumped back on the couch across from them, had been able to tell the whole thing had been planned beforehand.

What he spent the entire hour wondering was if Rogers had been in on it, or if his enthusiasm was as real as it appeared.

He still wasn’t sure, but he knew that Rogers – with or without Mark’s siblings’ help – had gotten it into his head that he wanted them to go see a movie together. He didn’t say it outright at first, but threw little comments about random movie releases or the price of tickets, or really _obvious_ stuff like that that made Mark have to bite down mocking comments.

He wasn’t opposed to the idea in general. Although he wasn’t into movies like Rogers or Dan were, he could go see one, sure. What he couldn’t do, though, was go on a date.

 _That_ was another thing entirely, and yeah, maybe they could go and never say the D-word out loud but people would still _know_. No matter how much better he was at the not caring about what other people thought issue, he was still _him_ and he would not be seen on a date with another guy for as long as he lived.

Or that’s what he told himself at first.

As weeks passed and winter break approached, the idea started to horrify him less and less. Most people from school usually left, after all, to spend the holidays in places where it actually snowed in winter. So there wasn’t that big of a chance they would run into someone they knew. And they didn’t have to tell their families where they were going, they could just get in the car, be gone for a few hours and come back, no questions asked.

He hoped.

He still wasn’t ready for it when Rogers said it.

“We should go out,” Rogers proposed and Mark only staggered a little while getting up from his bedroom floor, where he had been tying his shoe.

“Oh?” He managed to choke out, only a bit shaky. On the inside, though, he was going something like o _h God, oh no, oh fuck_ over and over again.

There was a pause after Mark’s lame retort, in which Rogers stared at him from where he was sitting on the desk chair and Mark pretended he was looking for his other shoe (even though he knew he had kicked it under the bed earlier).

“Yeah,” Rogers said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “It wouldn’t be so bad.”

“No, I know,” Mark replied. “Um, where d’you wanna go?”

As if he didn’t know.

Rogers smiled a little, like he knew Mark was playing dumb and found it funny instead of infuriating, like he would have not that long ago.

“What about a movie?”

“Which movie?”

Rogers rolled his eyes, again in good nature, and Mark found himself relaxing. He hadn’t noticed the way his shoulders had tensed up. He had been expecting a fight, but apparently Rogers had been expecting Mark to be more of an ass about the whole thing and when Mark had failed to blow up in his face, Rogers had calmed down, too.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged and leaned back on the chair. “What kind do you like?”

Mark would have wanted to see something with lots of explosions and fights and not one single hint of a romantic plot in it, but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead he dropped himself onto his stomach on his bed and reached down to grab his missing shoe.

“Why don’t we go next week, after break starts, and see what’s on?” He offered, refusing to meet Rogers’ eye. He busied himself tying his shoelaces and then looked up. Rogers was staring at him, smiling in a way that looked a little indulgent to Mark. It didn’t bother him as much as it should.

“It’s a,” he said and Mark’s insides jumped, “deal.”

Then Mark threw a pillow at Rogers, only managing to knock over the lamp on his desk and his mother yelled at them to go downstairs immediately, probably thinking the noise meant they had been doing something else.

Mark ignored the way his face burned on his way to the kitchen, gaze fixed on Rogers’ bright red ears peeking out of his hair in front of him.

 

 

Winter break was closer every day, but Mark made a point not to think about it. Instead, he did another thing he hadn’t done in a long time: worry about his exams.

Over the last few years, school hadn’t been a big concern for him – not counting Rogers, who was something Mark had always kept tabs on. He did horrible in the classes that they shared, because he had always been too busy holding onto his desk to keep from leaping at the other guy and break his face. And the classes they _didn’t_ share, Mark always found he had trouble concentrating.

It was like, no matter the situation, Rogers had always been an underlying presence in his thoughts, making it difficult for Mark to focus entirely on anything else.

That feeling had started vanishing lately (or at least the violent side of it had) and Mark’s grades were proof of it.

So that last week before break, he buried himself in schoolwork to keep himself from panicking and Dan became his only company, claiming that since Mark had the side of the room with the window in it, it was only fair that he let him study there, too.

Mark had one last paper to turn in on Friday, and Thursday night he was reading it over and over again, holding onto it like a lifeline, crumpling the sides under his fingers.

“You’re gonna burn holes in it if you keep staring at it that way,” Dan said from the desk and Mark’s mind did _not_ go to Rogers, and to how he had been sitting there when he had brought up the movie thing.   

“Shut up,” he replied and put the sheets of paper down on his lap – he would have to re-print it later.      

“Are you nervous about it?” Dan asked, all fake innocence as he twirled around on the chair. Mark glared at him.

“About what?”

“Your paper.” Dan’s tone was mocking, and Mark thought his brother would have added a _duh_ if he wouldn’t have been so busy making himself dizzy.

He didn’t bother answering, and Dan didn’t bother asking again. Mark also didn’t bother throwing him out, even though he was clearly not studying and sunlight had faded over an hour ago. At least Dan was a distraction.

“Sandy told me you’re going to the theater next week,” Dan said and Mark choked. He sat up, coughing and trying to talk at the same time. Dan stopped moving and stared at him, a smile beginning to pull one corner of his mouth up. If he started laughing, Mark wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. “Was it a secret?”

Well, _no_ , it wasn’t a secret. But why the hell did Rogers have to go babble to Dan, of all people?

“Is it like…a date?”

Mark wanted to be dead. Right now.

“No,” he managed to say. “It’s not a damn date.”  

“Oh.” Dan bit his lip. “Can I go then? ‘Cause there’s this movie I--”

“No, you can’t _go_.” It came out of Mark’s mouth incredulous and exasperated and completely without his permission. He resisted the urge to clap a hand over his lips in horror, and instead looked down at the crumpled mess that was his homework, now scattered over his bed.

Dan was quiet a moment, but Mark didn’t dare meet his eye. If he found the boy holding back laughter, he thought he would push him out the window. He scrambled for something to say, something that would make Dan drop it.

“We’re going after the hospital.” Mark dared a glance up, “I’m not gonna come all the way back here just to pick you up.”

“Sandy said you didn’t know when you were going,” Dan argued, halfway to pouting.

“We’re going after the hospital, next week.”

For a second, it looked like Dan was going to keep insisting. Mark could imagine what he would say: _I can go to the hospital with you_ or _I can meet you there_ or _The theater is closer to_ _home._ But he didn’t say anything. He opened his mouth, closed it and grinned.

“Fine.”

Then Mark watched him get up and walk back to his side of the room, a spring in his step. And just like that, Mark was left alone with his thoughts again. He sighed and grabbed his paper, settling down to read it a couple (or twenty) more times.

 

 

Nightmare Day turned out to be the following Tuesday. School was over and done with for a couple of weeks, but Rogers had agreed to continue to go to the hospital for another week. At first it had annoyed Mark, because he was the one driving Rogers, after all.  It had, however, turned out to be the perfect excuse.

Since they were already out together, no one – except maybe Dan and Jessica, if Mark paid attention to their stupid little smirks, which he _didn’t_ – would suspect a thing.

Since Rogers had started volunteering, Mark had slowly mustered up the courage to go inside the building instead of waiting in the parking lot or drive around for an hour. There was a small café in the ground floor, in which Mark had claimed a table in the farthest corner. The thought of running into someone from Rogers’ old physical therapy group made him edgy, so he always kept his back to the door and his head down.

One time, Steve had rolled in and found him. He had, among other things, called him whipped and Mark had barely nearly punched him. The rest of that week Mark had claimed he had to study, and Rogers had gone to the hospital alone.

Sometimes Mark thought it was sad just how much and how quickly things had changed between them. He didn’t exactly miss the constant fights and anger and insults, but he sort of missed that he didn’t use to…miss Rogers. It was a bit pathetic that Mark had only lasted three days without driving him around. And it wasn’t even Rogers who caved in first, like Mark had been expecting.

“I’ll see you after,” Rogers said as they parted ways at the hospital’s entrance, pulling Mark out of his thoughts. He patted Mark’s shoulder and turned towards the elevators.

A month ago, Mark would have freaked the hell out from only that, but now he sort of itched for more. He still felt the receptionist eyes on him like little needle pricks on the back of his head, but he was able to shrug it off easily. Or at least without lashing out at Rogers.

Lately, Rogers tended to stand too close to Mark, or absently grab his arm while he talked and Mark couldn’t say anything about it. Well, he _could,_ but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t be a good idea. And Besides, Mark did it too. More often than not, he would catch himself leaning against the other guy, or staring too closely or feeling the urgent need to run his hands through Rogers’ hair. He would stop his hand halfway, appalled at what had happened to him in such short time.

These weren’t even conscious impulses: they were unpredictable, _dangerous_ ones.

And since he had started making an effort (a _bigger_ effort, since he had already been trying), Mark could tell some people at school had even started to catch on. A day didn’t go by when he wouldn’t find someone staring in wonder or confusion or amusement. Mark thought that he didn’t see anyone giving him the _wrong_ kind of look because he could pretty much bring whoever he wanted down, and they freaking knew it.

So far, no one had been an asshole about it, but nothing was confirmed yet.  Mark gave the entire student body until he or Rogers slipped up. If there were any remarks after that, punches would have to start flying. He would not take any kind of shit from anyone.

Mark waited in the café. Now out of school work to busy himself with, he spent most of the hour trying to settle his stomach. His first concern was this new, impossible lack of control over his body. Being unable to keep his hands to himself would not work in public. And Rogers’ complete indifference over his own inability to keep his hands to himself would make everything worse, he knew it.

He could sometimes admit that he was tired of worrying over this, but someone _had_ to, and Rogers didn’t seem to care enough.

Mark was busy picturing possible scenarios of PDA gone wrong when he felt a cool hand on the back of his neck. Rogers curled his fingers around it and squeezed slightly, forcing Mark to look up at him.

“You’re not freaking out, are you?” He asked quietly. Mark looked at him and wanted to move away from his touch and lean in and call the whole thing off and to go to the fucking movies with Rogers.

It was a complicated feeling.

He shook his head.

“No,” Mark replied. “Why, are you?”

Rogers half-smiled, not moving his hand away. “A little,” he admitted.

Mark opened his mouth to ask if he wanted to go back home instead, leave the movie for another day. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to _go_ , he realized, and see a crappy movie in the crappy theater downtown sitting next to Rogers in the dark.

Well, just when he thought he couldn’t be more pathetic.

“Suck it up,” he said and got up. Rogers’ hand stayed where it was for a second longer before falling off, and Mark absolutely refused to miss the weight of it.

“Asshole,” Rogers said good-naturedly and led the way outside.

 

 

They were both happy to pretend it had been a spur of the moment thing, Mark in gym shorts and Rogers in the same jeans and sweatshirt he had been wearing for two days. The two of them were careful not to think too much about what they were doing and take it like something so normal and not at all out of the ordinary that they didn’t even bother to dress up for it.

The truth was that Mark hadn’t been to a movie theater with Rogers since they were kids and their parents planned all sorts of outings for the two families to do together – from eating in crowded fast food restaurants, all seven (or eight if Frank was around) of them crammed in tables for no more than six people, to going on long and horrible road trips that usually ended with everyone angry at everyone.

So, it had been years since Mark and Rogers had stepped foot in a theater together. In fact, the last time they had sat on either end of the row of seats, both sulking because Jessica had picked the movie and it was something girly Mark had been embarrassed to be seen walking out of it afterwards. And besides, he had been sure Rogers had been throwing popcorn at him the entire time (it had turned out to be Dan, in the end) and he had picked a fight as soon as they were outside.

He was pretty sure that episode was the reason why their parents had decided to stop it with their useless campaign to make everyone get along.

Not even after this thing had started with Rogers had Mark ever thought he would be going into the city with the intention of seeing a movie with him.

And yet, here he was. In line to buy tickets to a movie he had never heard of before. All he knew about it was that the poster showed a truck, a fiery explosion and a guy holding a gun to his chest. Rogers said he had heard it was so bad, it wouldn’t last until next week in theaters. Even the poster looked cheap. It was perfect.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, but they didn’t exchange a word. Mark felt exposed, towering over most of the people around him, and he felt that talking would bring more attention to him. He didn’t know why Rogers hadn’t attempted conversation, unless he had been telling the truth earlier and he really was freaking out.

But having Rogers nervous was not improving Mark’s own nerves, which was making the wait awkward. He searched for something to say, anything to start Rogers’ rambling.

“Dan wanted to come,” he said, but for some reason couldn’t control the volume of his voice, and it was too low for Rogers to hear.

“What?” He asked, looking up at Mark, frowning slightly. They were standing too close again, Mark noticed.

He cleared his throat, looking quickly away.

“Dan,” he repeated. “He wanted to come.”

“Yeah?”

“You told him.”

Rogers’ frown deepened, “I didn’t tell him to come.”

“No,” Mark muttered. “That _we_ were going.”

Rogers sighed, brushed his hair off his face, suddenly exasperated.

“I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Well, it figured Mark’s attempt to talk would turn into a fight. It was just typical, Mark should stop being surprised about it every damn time.

“It wasn’t,” he said, hoping it would bring the subject to an end. Then added, “I was just saying,” because he had come to understand that explaining himself, as much as it annoyed him, actually did sort of fix things most of the time.

“Oh.” Rogers’ tone was definitely less defensive, and Mark smiled in spite of himself, before forcing his face to stay _put_. “Sorry, yeah, I told him.”

They stepped forward as the line advanced, their sides still pressed together.

“I forget that he’s…” Rogers trailed off and Mark looked down; he had succeeded in making Rogers talk. “That he isn’t as nice with you as he is with me.” Rogers shrugged.

“You forget?” Mark asked, incredulous, and Rogers smirked up at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “You know, I think it’s contagious.”

“Huh?”

“Your asshole…ery. He’s catching it.”

Rogers laughed and Mark bumped their shoulders, hard.

“So fucking funny,” he muttered and they were suddenly at the front of the line.

And then, before he realized what he was doing, Mark was paying for both tickets himself. He could feel Rogers looking at him – he could actually feel _everybody_ looking at him, even though he knew no one was paying attention to him. He caught Rogers slipping his wallet back in his pocket and felt his face burn.

“You’re buying the snacks,” he mumbled as they climbed up the stairs to the second floor, and ignored Rogers’ answering smile.

 

 

They were sitting in front of the blank screen fifteen minutes later, side to side. Rogers had a bucket of popcorn on his lap. Mark was holding onto his cup of coke (that Rogers had paid for) for dear life. His fingers were going numb with the cold, and the popcorn smelled amazing, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He wanted to put the cup in the holster, and he wanted to start eating and fuck, he wanted to put his arm around Rogers’ shoulders, _why_?

It had been his first instinct after finding their spots, to just reach out and put his arm over the back of Rogers’ seat. Mark was pretty sure something similar had happened to Rogers, too. Because as soon they had settled down, things had turned awkward again.

The room was slowly filling up with people their age, all loud and over-excited, and here Mark was, in the middle of it, sitting next to another guy. Another guy who he wanted to touch so badly he was afraid he would pull a muscle holding back.

So far, Mark hadn’t seen anyone from school. They were sitting in the last row, in a corner, and no one had spotted them yet. Mark didn’t think he would relax until the lights were out.

“Can I have a sip?” Rogers asked, way too close to Mark’s ear, and Mark nearly spilled coke all over himself. He handed the cup to Rogers wordlessly, and in turn, Rogers offered the bucket to him. But their eyes refused to meet.

Mark was aware it was ridiculous to be this nervous, but he couldn’t help himself.

Then finally, _finally_ , the lights started to dim. Mark settled more comfortably against the back of his seat, slumping down until the head of the man in front of him reached the edge of the screen.

He felt Rogers move next to him, and glanced over to see him putting the bucket on the floor, between them. The cup was on the other side of him, sweating onto the arm of the seat.

As soon as the lights were completely out, Rogers had a hand on Mark’s knee. By the time the previews had ended and the movie with the truck and the explosions and the man with the gun had started, Rogers’ other hand was turning Mark’s face his way, and Rogers’ mouth was over his.

Mark wasn’t even surprised at how unsurprised he was. He had known it would happen, especially since Rogers had picked a shitty movie he had no intention of actually _watching_.

They kissed with a familiarity that calmed Mark’ broken nerves completely, and that filled his chest with a warm heaviness he had become used to in the last couple of months. Rogers felt right in Mark’s hands, even in the alien setting. The kids’ hollers and laughter faded gradually, until all Mark could hear was Rogers’ soft sounds and the drag of his fingers in Rogers’ hair. 

They didn’t kiss for the whole movie, though. They stopped and they looked at the screen and Mark picked up some popcorn while Rogers’ arm snuck around him.

Then they started again.

Mark didn’t allow himself to get hard. Every time felt himself coming close, he leaned back and took a breath. They were surrounded by people, there was someone sitting _right next to him_ , he wasn’t going to let things climb up to the point of no return.

But he wasn’t able to convince himself to stop kissing Rogers every time his arm tightened a little around him. Not even if he knew the person next to him and the ones in front of them probably heard what they were doing.

So they kissed, and Rogers laughed against Mark’s lips at what they were doing, and then kissed him again.

When the movie ended and lights came back on, Mark had yet to see a truck in the screen, though he had vaguely heard some explosions at some point.

They busied themselves picking imaginary popcorn out of their clothes to avoid the looks of the people closer to them, who were now checking to see who they were.

When Mark dared to look up at Rogers, he was already staring at him and grinning like an idiot.

“Shut up,” Mark said around a smile of his own and Rogers shrugged and attempted to flatten his hair.

 

 

All would have been good, no, better than good – everything would have been fucking great if the first thing they had seen as they stepped outside hadn’t been John.

John standing between Dana and Emily, the three of them staring back at them.

Mark stopped dead in his tracks, and Rogers bumped into him and crushed the bucket of popcorn (still mostly full) between them. He didn’t shout out in protest, so Mark guessed he had already seen why Mark had stopped.

“Hey,” Rogers said after a moment and walked to the little group. Mark followed, at a loss of what else to do, his legs feeling like they didn’t belong to him.

“Hey,” Dana said with a small, bewildered smile. They all exchanged mumbled greetings, Emily (and Mark) downright bitter. The only one that seemed to take it all in stride was John.

But of course John would, he wasn’t the one coming out of a movie with Rogers, both looking like the last thing they had been doing with their mouths for the last two hours was stuff them with popcorn and nothing else.

“What movie did you guys watch?” John asked, making his way to the snack bar. He made conversation with Rogers while Mark hung back, embarrassed and a little pissed.

“How was the movie?” Dana asked, suddenly next to him, and for a moment Mark didn’t know what to answer.

“Really bad,” he said. “It won’t last more than a week.”

“That’s what Sandy said,” Emily muttered from his other side.

Even though everyone else got along just fine, him and Emily never said two words to each other without barking them. John had told Mark that Emily was jealous because of Rogers, but apart from that, they just didn’t get along. Rogers said they were too much alike or something, but Mark liked to believe he wasn’t as bitchy, thank you.

“What movie are _you_ watching?” He snapped.

Emily pointed at a poster showing some girls and a bridge and flowers on the title and had to laugh, because John would probably suffer through that one.

“Hey, wanna see this one too?” Rogers called from ahead of them and Mark’s laughter died. “John’s got free tickets.”

Emily smirked at him, daring him to say no and fuck everything up. Overall, it had been a good…whatever. Even if it could have gone a little smoother, it hadn’t been as bad as he had expected. He could even see himself doing it again sometime. In the far future. But that was not going to happen if it didn’t end well. And like hell Mark was going to be the one to ruin it.

“Okay,” he said and this time the girls were laughing at him.

Rogers smiled over at him.

Mark would kill John later.


	2. Being Here Feels Like Present Enough

(Set right before chapter 31)

-

When Mark was nine and hadn’t yet discovered the pleasure that punching Rogers’ face in (much less the pleasure of doing other things to other parts of him) could give him, he had more complex ways of venting his frustrations.

Okay, he didn’t have something cooked up _all the time_ and it wasn’t always that complex, but usually an idea would pop in his head (or you know, come up on TV) and he would think _Rogers is going down_ , along with some malicious hand rubbing and a small, evil smirk on his face.

Back then, Mark was more of a seize-the-day kind of boy. He lived in the here and now, so it had never even occurred to him that Rogers would be making his life hell for years and years, or that one day Rogers would have to wear a sling for weeks and end up turning Mark around completely.

No, back then Mark enjoyed every little victory he got as if it were his last. He always thought, after this one fight for _sure_ Rogers would quit being his stupid neighbor who won at everything and who everyone _loved_ , and finally disappear once and for all.

So he did things like plan water balloon fights.

It was the middle of summer vacation and there was absolutely nothing to do. It was Friday, his parents were working and Mark had four bags of balloons hidden under his pillow, where they had been sitting since his birthday back in March. He planned on ambushing Rogers in his back yard, where Mark knew the boy would probably be. And if he wasn’t, he would send Dan to knock on the door and make him come out.

Nobody ever said no to itty-bitty Dan.

Mark found him and Jessica watching TV in the sitting room and stood in front of the screen with his arms full of colorful rubber.

“Move, fatty,” Jessica snapped and Mark scowled, feeling his face heat up.

“What’s that?” Dan asked.

Mark considered not telling them, just leaving and doing the whole thing alone. But that would not have been as fun, and besides, he knew from experience that having accomplices meant less punishment for him.

“I’m gonna attack Rogers,” he said, smug. Jessica rolled her eyes, something she had picked up a while ago and that made Mark shake with anger.

“Why do you call him that?”

“You want to come or not?” He said instead of answering. He didn’t want to admit that it was because being beaten at everything by a boy with a girl’s name did something funny to the way he felt about himself.

Not only Rogers was taller and skinnier, but his name was _Sandy_ and it wasn’t fair that he was still so popular with a name like that.

They filled the balloons in the bathroom and in the kitchen, and dumped them in two buckets full of water. Then Mark and Jessica raced across the street, each holding a bucket, splashing water onto their feet, while Dan ran ahead of them.

But Mark’s plans almost always backfired, especially when he involved his siblings. 

They snuck around the side of Rogers’ house, and Mark could tell something was wrong as soon as he heard Hannah Rogers’ voice coming from inside. She sounded angry and that could only mean that Frank was home and that they were fighting because she never raised her voice at Rogers unless Mark had something to do with it. Mark saw Jessica glance through a window briefly, her expression uneasy.

That should have tipped him off. 

They kept walking as Dan covered his mouth to stifle his giggles. When they reached the end of the house, Mark and Jessica peered around the corner, heavy buckets at their feet.

Rogers was sitting against the big tree Mark liked to climb when he was forced to stay over, frowning down at his lap. Frank and Hannah Rogers’ voices could still be heard faintly, coming from inside.

“Mark, I don’t think—” Jessica started but Mark was already plunging his hand in one of the buckets.

The balloon was green and it flew in a high arch through the yard. It landed on Rogers’ legs. Mark had fantastic aim.

“ _Mark!_ ” Jessica said in a harsh whisper over Dan’s laughter.

Rogers was looking around him, at the fence and up the tree and Mark was already reaching for more ammunition when Jessica snatched the bucket away. He only had time open his mouth before she was running towards Rogers.

With half of _Mark’s_ water balloons.

“Where’s she going?” Dan asked, grabbing Mark’s sleeve.

They watched Jessica stand over Rogers, pointing at them and then at the balloons. Rogers got up and Mark could see the water dripping down his legs from all the way to where he was hiding like a coward.

“Pass me another one,” he said to Dan.

“What color?”

Mark pushed him away and grabbed one himself. Only to be slapped in the face as soon as he straightened up.

“ _Ow_!” He shouted and then realized he had squeezed the balloon in his hand too hard. He blinked the water out of his eyes and looked up. Rogers was standing there, his middle finger raised and directed at him. He was frowning, but Mark could tell he wanted to smile – his mouth was sort of twitching.

“Dan, get out of the way.”

“But,” Dan began to whine – Mark was already throwing. It went a little to the right and hit Jessica in the arm, bounced off it and burst on the grass. She screeched at him and then it was _on_.

Balloons were flying everywhere, red, blue, green, orange and yellow, landing on the side of the house and on the ground. Sometimes hitting skin with satisfying smacks and followed by a cheer or a shout. Mark didn’t dare to move out of his spot, he wasn’t as fast as Rogers (as much as it pained him to admit it) and Jessica always played dirty. Dan mostly hid behind him, squealing and sometimes daring to peek over Mark’s shoulder.

It was over too soon, and by the end of it they were all soaked. Jessica and Rogers high-fived, and it made Mark angry for some reason. When Dan tried to do the same with him, he pushed his arm away and stomped over to his sister.

“You owe me _twenty-seven_ balloons,” he said.

“No, I don’t!” She cried. “I told you to stop—”

“You didn’t have to take them!”

“You’re just angry ‘cause we beat you, Spot,” Rogers butted in and Mark whirled around and pushed him.

“You didn’t _beat_ me,” he growled. “And don’t call me that!”

Jessica got in the way before he could push Rogers again.

“Stop it!” She said, grabbing Mark’s arm. “Why d’you have to fight all the time?”

“ _He_ started it.”

“Me? _You_ threw a water balloon at me!” Rogers was in his face and was almost a head taller than him and Mark couldn’t push him away again because now Jessica was holding both his arms behind his back. He wondered if it’d be really painful to smash Rogers’ nose with his forehead.

“Oh, are you gonna cry because you got wet?” Mark mocked and was satisfied when Rogers went red in the face. He wasn’t so happy, though, when Rogers stepped back to the tree and returned with the bucket Jessica had taken before. “Don’t—”

“What, are _you_ gonna cry if I dump this on your fat head?”

Jessica, maybe because she didn’t want to be accused of having held Mark down but probably because she didn’t want to get even more wet, let go of his arms just before Rogers hoisted the bucket up.

Mark ran for the other one and slipped on the mud. He staggered and didn’t fall, but Rogers caught up with him and dumped freezing water on his back.

Mark let out a word that would have made his mother faint and had Dan snickering somewhere behind him.

Then Frank came out of the house.

“What the–?” All four of them turned as one. Frank was standing just outside the back door, looking at the mess that was now his back yard, muddy and littered with multicolored balloon remains. “What do you think you’re _doing_?”

Mark was up instantly, standing next to Rogers. He felt Dan grabbing at his shirt again and could see Jessica come up behind their brother out of the corner of his eye. No matter the situation, Frank was always a common enemy. It sucked to be on Rogers’ side, but it happened every time his dad was around.

Frank finished staring at the ruined grass and fixed the four of them with a glare. He raked his eyes over each of them before settling on Rogers.

“Now, who’s going to fix this?”

Rogers crossed his arms and looked down at his feet, refusing to answer. Mark loved it when Rogers got into trouble.

“What are _you_ smiling about, Freckles?” Frank snapped. It took Mark a moment to realize he was talking to him. Frank called his siblings Freckles, too, but only Mark seemed to hate it. “I’m calling your parents.”

Mark felt Dan shifting next to him, sliding a little behind his back. He was such a _baby_. As if anyone ever got mad at him.

“Go home, you three,” Frank said with a sigh. “And you, start cleaning up.”

“But,” Jessica said, her voice had lost the commanding tone. “We brought the balloons.”

Mark wanted to turn around and tell her to shut up – he didn’t want to have to clean. This was Rogers’ yard, it was _his_ job.

“You want to help?” Frank asked, a little disbelieving. “Suit yourselves, but as soon as you’re done, you’re gone.” He sent Mark a look, and Mark resisted the urge to make a face at him. “And I’m still calling your parents.”

With that, he went back inside. Mark absently wondered where Hannah Rogers was, before shrugging it off and turning on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Jessica asked, back to sounding like their mom.

“Home,” Mark replied.

“Stay here and help, this was your idea!”

“It wasn’t my idea to clean up,” he said and trotted away before they could physically stop him. He heard Jessica yelling after him, threatening to tell Mom and Dad. He heard Rogers tell her it was okay, that Mark was an idiot anyway and almost turned back, just to prove him wrong.

Instead, he went home and stole a big box of cookies from a cupboard.

 

 

When Mark was eleven, he sort of figured out that Rogers wasn’t going anywhere. And it made him bitter. He was angry all the time, because Rogers was there _all the time_. He didn’t enjoy planning hide and seek games just to watch him hide while no one was looking for him. Or giving him salt instead of sugar to put in his chocolate milk. Or putting plastic bugs between his sheets when he stayed over and Mom made him sleep in his and Dan’s room.

He still did it, of course, but his heart wasn’t in it like it had once been.

Mostly, Mark was just bored. He spent every day with Dan and Jessica, at home and at school. He didn’t even have his own room to hide in like Jessica did. And mom always yelled at him when he tried to keep Dan out of theirs.

And then, the moments that were supposed to be _his_ , he had to share with Rogers. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t, that Mark had to celebrate his birthday with him just because they had been born on the same stupid day.

So Mark was sulking for all he was worth, sitting alone at the garden table while everyone else played tag in Rogers’ back yard. Even Jessica and the friend she had invited were running around, despite always claiming they were too old to play kiddy games.

Some of Rogers’ aunts were standing near Mark, smoking and talking about Frank and why he wasn’t there. But then – as Mark poked at his carrot cake with a fork and considered dropping it on the ground just so he wouldn’t have to eat it – he heard them say his name.

“And this Wallace boy,” one of them was saying, her voice lowering to a whisper, “when was the last time he smiled or played like a normal kid?”

“Maybe if his mother forced him to run a bit he wouldn’t be so stocky,” another one said, and this one didn’t bother to pretend to whisper. Mark’s plastic fork snapped in his hand.

He got up and, as an afterthought, slapped his piece of cake off the table. It landed on the floor with a splat. He went into Rogers’ house listening snarky comments of what a horrible little kid he was.

It wasn’t his fault Rogers had grown even taller and skinnier this year, and Mark had stayed the same as always. It wasn’t his fault he was the only one of his siblings who was _fat_. Someday he’d grow, too. He bet he was going to be taller than Rogers and then Rogers would have nothing to make fun of him about. He bet even his stupid freckles would vanish eventually – Jessica’s only showed in summer now.

He bet in a couple of years Rogers would be so scared of him he wouldn’t even dare to look at Mark, much less try to pick a fight.

Mark went inside through the backdoor, which opened into the kitchen. His mother was there, putting a band-aid on Dan’s knee, who was sniffling like he was _two_.

“What are you doing in here?” Mom asked, not even turning around. “You should go play with you friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” Mark muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Of course they are, some of those kids spend more time here that in their own homes.”

“They’re _Rogers’_ friends.”

“They are not,” Mom insisted while she splashed water on Dan’s snotty face. “They are here for both of you, so go back out there.”

The truth was that they had been Mark’s friends _first_ , but Rogers ended up meddling every time he invited them over. So he had stopped bringing them home after school, only so that Rogers could steal them and invite them to his own house. Mark had stopped talking to them after that. And after Mark had flipped out at Rogers in front of them, they had stopped trying to talk to him. 

“No,” Mark grunted, rubbing at his arms. “Can’t I have some of Rogers’ cake?”

“What’s wrong with yours?” She asked, finally looking at him.

“It fell.”

Mom gave him a narrow-eyed look, not buying it. Mark looked down again, scowling.

“Can we open the presents now?” Dan asked, his voice watery, and Mark perked up.

“Yeah, can we?”

Mom sighed, “I wish you’d play a little with your friends first, Mark.”

“ _No_!” He snapped, his voice going high. “I wanna go _home_.”

“Gosh, _fine_ , open your presents.” Mom threw her arms out as Dan let out a whoop. “Why don’t you try to enjoy yourself, I’ll never understand.”

With that, she went into the Rogers’ living room, Dan at her heels. Mark hurried outside and sat back at the table, stepping over the cake on the floor. He had stopped being excited about presents after he’d realized that Rogers always got the cooler ones and he didn’t even seem to want them. But this year his parents had asked Mark what he wanted instead of guessing or asking Jessica, and Mark was sure he was going to get it.

He had been drooling over a bike since Christmas, and his parents had looked pleased when Mark had pointed it at them – probably because a bike meant exercise and stuff, but Mark didn’t even think about that part. Rogers didn’t have a bike, and now Mark would. That’s all that mattered.

Of course, it was just as Mark was thinking all this that his mom and Hannah Rogers came outside, each dragging a brand new bike in front of them.

Now, not only was Rogers getting a bike as well, but he was getting the one that Mark had pointed out. The blue one, with the kickstands and five speeds, just like the ones older kids used. Mark’s was _purple_ , it had _training wheels_ and all it was missing was the little basket with the plastic flowers up front to make it the worst thing he had ever seen. 

Rogers was hugging his mother and showing off his gift to everyone, while Mark gave a quiet thanks to his parents and wished he was home harder than ever. He didn’t even make a scene, he was so angry he was practically seeing double, but he stayed silent and posed for a picture. His mom gave him a concerned look and Jessica glared at him and Dan asked if he could try the bike himself if Mark didn’t want to.

Sometimes Mark was sure people messed with him on purpose. He was sure they loved to see him snap. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction this time. He stayed put, and when the other kids asked to use his bike, he nodded at them and sat down next to Rogers’ aunts and hated everybody in silence.

When he caught Rogers looking over at him, probably wanting to see him being all angry and miserable, he sneered and turned his back at him.

He hated his stupid birthday.

 

 

When Mark was fourteen, he was taller than Rogers (and everybody else except Dad), thin and in a constant state of badly-concealed fury. He also had more freckles on him than his entire family put together, which he thought was really unfair. He was bigger than them, and thus had more skin for the damn things to spread, so why he looked like a freaking colander, he didn’t know. 

The morning of his birthday, he was sitting at one end of his kitchen table. Rogers was sitting at the other, and his father was between them, eating toast and reading a newspaper. It was Sunday and Hannah Rogers was coming back from a business trip in two hours, which meant that Rogers had stayed over the night before, even though he was old enough to stay alone at his own house.

They had woken up twenty minutes ago and they were already on time-out.

It embarrassed Mark that he still got put on time-out, but his mother said that he would start treating him like a grownup when he started acting like one. Mark didn’t know how to act like a grownup, what was he supposed to do? Tell Rogers to _please_ go to hell? Say _excuse me_ before punching him in the stomach?

His mother said acting like a grownup meant to suck it up. To think before acting. To count to ten before snapping. To stop talking back like a little kid.

But Mark wasn’t going to just stand there and take it every time Rogers told him off. That wasn’t the grownup thing to do – it was the stupid idiot thing to do. Mark could defend himself and he was going to do it. Just because no one ever caught Rogers being an ass to him didn’t mean he wasn’t.

Just because no one saw it didn’t mean Mark had to pretend he didn’t either.

“What happened now?” Mom asked as soon as she entered the kitchen and saw them sitting there. “Mark!”

“What?” Mark snapped – they _always_ yelled his name first. “ _I_ didn’t start it.”

Rogers snorted and Mark glared at him, wishing he was closer so he could kick him under the table.

“You need a tissue, asshole?” He spat instead. 

“I’d like to have one peaceful birthday,” Mom went on. “Just one before you move out.”

“When am I moving out?” Mark asked, tearing his gaze away from Rogers and sitting up, a little panicked. Mom had threatened to send him away enough times, but Mark had never thought she was serious!

She sighed, “Someday, Mark. When you’re old enough and ready and all that. Now what happened?”

“Just a little disagreement in the bathroom,” said Dad, finally putting the newspaper down.

The little disagreement had been a shove fight to get into the bathroom first until Mark had ( _accidentally,_ no one bothered to check _that_ anymore) banged Rogers’ head against the doorframe and Rogers had retaliated by tackling Mark and smearing his face with toothpaste.

It amazed (pissed off) Mark how his father could catch Rogers on top of him, the paste tube in his hand and Mark’s face painted green and white, and still find a way to blame it all on _him_. His eyes still burned from when the paste had gotten into them.

“I was in the bathroom first,” Rogers muttered and gave Mark’s mom the look that never failed to get him out of trouble – all sorrowful eyes staring up from under his hair. She visibly softened, smiling a little and sighing again.

“Well, stay put the rest of the day, okay?” She said and set a few grocery bags on the counter. “And help me unload the car.”

Mark groaned, but Rogers got up at once and went outside. Mark only hurried to help because all Rogers always did was try to show him up.

They knocked shoulders as they grabbed the bags from the back of the car. Mark elbowed Rogers’ ribs and Rogers stepped on his foot, but they didn’t say a thing to each other. A crappy morning usually meant and very, _very_ crappy day. That tripled because it was his birthday, and that was usually a crap day on its own. So Rogers starting with the name-calling would have probably ended up with blood being shed – first Rogers’ and then Mark’s after Mom was done with _him_.

They knew each other enough to keep their mouths shut for the moment.

When Mark crossed the door to the kitchen again, his parents were in the middle of one of their odd and sort-of-gross kisses in inappropriate places. ‘Inappropriate’ being anywhere where Mark could see them.

He made a face and dropped the bags he was carrying on the table, startling them.

“Careful, Mark,” Mom said, but her tone was light and distracted. “There’re eggs in one of those.”

Mark was more concerned with finding something a little sweeter to eat as he rummaged through the bags. Rogers came in a second later and Mark saw his gaze linger on his parents, who were talking quietly and standing close together, as he placed his own bags on the floor.

Mark bet Hannah Rogers and Frank never acted that way in front of people. Or at all. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, so he stopped thinking about it and concentrated on digging a box of strawberry pop tarts from under a bunch of fruit.

“Those are for school,” his mother scolded him and snatched them away.

“Go sit down for a while,” his father told her before Mark could start protesting. “We can tidy up in here.”

Mark’s mother smiled and kissed his dad on the cheek. Mark looked away with a roll of his eyes and found Rogers staring again. Mark glared at him, daring him to start mocking him about his silly parents.

“One day you two are going to get girls of your own and we’ll see who’s acting like a big sap then,” Mark’s father teased quietly when there were only the three of them in the kitchen.

“No way,” replied Mark and was unnerved to hear Rogers saying the exact same thing. Only Rogers was showing a small smile of his own, as if he thought the idea of having some girl boss him around was the most amazing thing ever.

Mark’s frown deepened.

There was no way he was ever going to let a girl tell him what to do like his mother did all the time with his father.

There was an annoying voice at the back of his head, telling him that girls didn’t usually come near him much, anyway. That was _Rogers’_ field. His closest friends were all girls, while Mark spent his days at school hanging out with that new kid John, who didn’t talk to a lot of girls but liked to stare at them to the point of being creepy.

“You’ll see,” Mark’s dad said. “You’ll break your necks trying to please them, I promise.”

“No way,” Mark repeated, but this time he was the only one denying anything.

Rogers had his back to him, stretching up to stock boxes of cereal on the higher shelves of the cupboards. His hair, then longer than it would be a couple of years later, fell onto his neck in curls. 

Mark looked away and smirked because he didn’t need to stand on tiptoes to do anything anymore, and snuck a single pop tart into his pocket. 

 

 

When Mark was seventeen (or _almost_ seventeen anyway) he didn’t mind having Rogers around. Or next to him, or underneath him, or on top of him for that matter. In fact, he liked it a lot. And he was lucky he didn’t remember what he thought about being at someone’s beck and call a few years back, because – well, it wasn’t that Rogers bossed him around. But some people were under the impression that, since he still drove Rogers almost everywhere, he had trouble saying ‘no’ to him.

Which was bullshit, because Rogers hadn’t asked him to drive him anywhere, and besides there were things Mark definitely refused to do and not even Rogers could talk him into doing.

Mark stood at Brian-from-Gym-Class’ porch and tried to think of at least one of those things.

Music came blaring from inside the house, along with voices and laughter that sounded like the beer had been going around for a while now.

It was John who had come up with the idea first. So it wasn’t like Rogers had dragged Mark to the party: they had all agreed to go as a _group_ – or so the girls were so fond of saying. What had actually happened was that they had all voted, and it had turned out four against one. So Rogers hadn’t been the one Mark had followed like a kicked dog. He had followed John and Emily and Dana, too.

Mark wasn’t used to making a big deal about his birthday anymore. He hadn’t looked forward to it in years. But suddenly the prospect of spending the day sharing the entire thing with Rogers didn’t seem like such a horrible experience.

Spending the night _before_ his birthday at a shitty party, though, hadn’t been in his plans. The last time he had been at Brian’s place he had gotten drunk and woken up next to Rogers. It didn’t sound so bad now, but then it had ended with a bloody lip and a bunch of uncomfortable _talks_ about certain people’s sexuality.

“Where the hell are his parents?” Mark asked, still standing outside the house. “How is he always throwing parties?”

“I have the theory that he locks them in the basement every Friday night and lets them out on Sundays,” John said. He was standing between the girls, who were dressed even more scarcely than usual. John could hardly keep his eyes on Mark even as he talked to him.

“Does he drug them too?” Dana asked, obviously aware that John was checking her out and looking amused about it.

John scoffed, “Brian doesn’t know where to get drugs.”

Mark sent a look Rogers’ way, because it was either him or Emily, and found him already staring at him.

Suddenly, Mark was nervous again. It was the movie theater all over again, except this time he knew for sure he would run into people he knew. He had no idea how Rogers was expecting him to act but Mark hoped he was expecting to be disappointed because he planned on acting the same as usual.

Meaning, holding himself back in front of people.

Rogers looked nervous, too. Maybe he was wondering the same thing as him. He thought about the month before, about Valentine’s Day and how they had avoided each other, never even spoke of it once even though everyone around them kept bringing it up. Maybe they could get through this the same way, nodding at each other from different sides of the room, pretending Mark was only the ride there.

Mark doubted people still thought he was just Rogers’ ride and it made his stomach churn.

“Are we going in anytime this century?” Emily asked in her most annoyed tone and Mark blinked and realized he had been staring at Rogers for a little too long. He gave Emily a dirty look for good measure and ignored the smug faces the other two made as he turned to push open the front door.

Inside was packed with people, the music loud enough to turn the words in the song into unintelligible noise. Mark recognized some kids from school, of course, and avoided looking at them as he made a beeline for the kitchen, leaving the others behind.

John had offered himself as the designated driver, since it was Mark’s almost-birthday and all, so Mark planned to get _very_ drunk.

Like at every other party in Brian’s house, the kitchen table was completely covered with bottles and plastic cups in different colors. As he grabbed one, Mark distantly remembered a water balloon fight years ago. The cups had the same colors that had ended up littered all over Rogers’ yard. And he was almost sure Rogers had been the one cleaning up afterwards.

He smiled faintly at the memory as he poured himself some beer.

“That for me?” Someone asked behind him, and Mark turned to see a girl dressed a lot like Emily was: cutoff jeans so short they looked like underwear and a tank top. She smiled at him, and Mark was relieved to find her attractive. This could be the day everyone started thinking he was gay, but girls still did it for him even if not for Rogers.

“Sure,” he said and handed the girl the cup. He poured himself another, and then bumped into her when he turned to go.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling around the rim of her plastic cup. “Do you go to my school?”

Mark hesitated.

Sure he found girls attractive, but Rogers…he and Rogers– He just didn’t feel right letting a girl flirt with him. The again, why the hell not? He wasn’t going to act on it, it didn’t hurt anybody if he let her talk, or grab onto his arm, or–

“Don’t,” he said and stepped away when she stood flush against him. If it came out harsher than he intended, well, the music was loud and she wouldn’t have heard otherwise.

“Okay.” She kept her fingers around Mark’s wrist as she told him about her friends dragging her to the party, even though she had no idea who Brian was. Mark sipped at his beer, nodded and followed when she pulled him into the sitting room, grabbing a full cup on the way out of the kitchen.

The music was making the floor shake in time with the beat, or maybe that was because of the mass of kids jumping as one in the middle of the darkened room. Mark downed his new drink in two gulps as he let the girl drag him around.

She kept sending sly looks over her shoulder, and Mark kept finding her cute and nothing else.

Then he looked up and found John dancing with Dana, Emily a little to the side. Rogers wasn’t with them. John saw Mark looking and lifted one arm and pointed at his wrist in an urgent sort of gesture. Emily was looking at the strange girl with an expression that said Rogers was going to be hearing about her. Mark, following John’s instructions, checked his cell phone for the time.

It was ten to twelve.

His birthday was in ten minutes. His and Rogers’.

Mark seriously didn’t care about it. Spending his last sixteen birthdays fighting with everyone had drained the excitement out of it or something. But he knew Rogers cared. It was important to him – Mark had been able to tell even when they were kids. Once people started to arrive, friends and family baring gifts and hugs and games, Rogers always looked overjoyed. The high could last him a few days, in which he never fought with Mark until Mark burst his bubble and they were their usual again.

Mark felt a prickle in the pit of his stomach. He knew Rogers had been looking forward to their birthday. He knew things with Frank and Hannah Rogers were still going downhill.   

Damn it.

He disentangled himself from the girl and instantly lost her in the crowd. He didn’t check to see if she was looking for him, instead turned and went back to the entrance hall, where he had last seen Rogers. He leaned against the front door, a little lightheaded from the beer, and tried to look around but people kept getting in the way.

Finally, when he was starting to consider calling him on the phone like some pathetic idiot, he caught sight of light brown curls going into another room. Mark followed, guessing it was five to twelve now. He had no idea what he was going to do when he reached Rogers, he was just sure he had to find him by twelve.

He started to call his name as he went through the door, leaning down to avoid some random strings of paper hanging from the threshold, when he stopped dead.

Everyone in the room – the dining room, apparently – were couples making out. Anger flared in Mark like it hadn’t in months. Why had Rogers come in here? Was he with someone else? Was he with some girl, like Mark had been? Was he with some _guy_? Mark would kill someone, he was sure of it, if he caught Rogers with _some guy_ in there. 

He stalked into the room and searched for Rogers’ telltale hair. It was dark, and he couldn’t see people’s faces and he was starting to really lose it when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around and there Rogers was – his expression just as angry as Mark felt.

“What were you doing in here?” Mark asked, closing his hand on Rogers’ arm and bringing him a little closer so he could see him properly.

“Looking for you,” Rogers replied, taking hold of Mark’s collar. “Someone told me they saw you come in here, and Emily sent me a text saying he saw you with some _girl_.” 

Mark was starting to feel the effects of the beer now, stronger by the second. He could smell alcohol on Rogers’ breath, too. He pulled him in closer, until they were touching from thigh to chest.

“I was looking for you,” he said, voice dropping to an angry whisper. “And you came into the make-out room.”

Rogers looked like he might laugh at the room’s name, but instead snapped: “I thought _you_ were making out with a girl in here. I was going to kick your ass.”

“Well, I thought you were making out with some _guy_. I was gonna fucking _kill_ him.”

“What guy?” Rogers asked, nose bumping into Mark’s.

“Some guy,” Mark said, shrugging and looking to the side. People seemed to be still minding their own business. The music seemed to be keeping their voices unheard.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” Mark muttered. He met Rogers’ eyes, only an inch or two below his, and was sure he was going to kiss him right there in the middle of the room. “Yeah, maybe,” he amended.

Something buzzed in Rogers’ pocket, Mark felt it against his own leg.

“Emily again?” He asked.

“The alarm,” Rogers said. And then, “Happy birthday.”

Just like that, like a switch being turned off, Mark’s anger faded. He felt his neck go warm and he tightened his grip on Rogers’ arm.

“Yeah.” He brought his other hand to Rogers’ waist. “Happy birthday.”

He was about to add a ‘whatever’, because even tipsy as he was he could tell this was rapidly becoming a _moment_ , when the lights went on. Rogers blinked, and Mark felt his eyelashes brush his skin. He also felt his own fingertips go cold, his heart miss a beat and then start again, full-force.

“Okay!” A girl’s voice called behind his back. “Let’s see who–” She cut herself off. The room was filled with groans from the disturbed couples, heard even through the music. Mark and Rogers were very still. Rogers’ face was coloring slowly and Mark didn’t dare look behind his back. He stared at Rogers’ eyes instead, and his lips and his tongue, peeking from between them.

“Oh, my God,” the girls said and the lights went back out. Then her voice was a retreating shout going, “You’ll never guess who was _in_ there!”

“Fuck,” Rogers breathed, warm against Mark’s mouth. “Right?”

He gave an awkward laugh, still tense. Mark was having some trouble processing everything.

“Are you okay?” Rogers asked quietly in his ear. “Are you about to blow up?”

 _No_ , Mark thought. _I must be drunker than I thought._

“I– Look, it’s not like people weren’t…suspecting and,” Rogers was talking quickly, growing annoyed. Mark felt strangely calm. “Anyway, what are they going to do about it? What are you so embarrassed about? Everyone’s cool about you being–”

“Not gay,” Mark cut in automatically. “Girls in shorts, still very hot.”

Rogers paused.

“I was going to say with me. Are you trying to make me jealous? You never thought Emily was hot.”

“She’s _Emily_ ,” Mark said, making a face.

“And Dana?”

“She’s _Dana_.”

Girls he couldn’t help but connect with Rogers. That was what they had always been: Rogers’ friends.

“I think girls are hot, too,” Rogers pointed out. The hand that was clutching at Mark’s shirt slid up to his neck.

“But you don’t want to sleep with them.”

The hand stilled. “Do you?”

“No.”

Mark wanted to sleep with Rogers, actually.

So he leaned in and kissed him, though he missed and caught his chin instead of his lips. He regrouped and tried again.

“Did you get me anything?” Rogers asked against his mouth. Mark made a questioning noise. “A present.”

“Shut up,” he said.

“You can’t tell me to shut up. It’s my birthday.”

And then Rogers didn’t say anything else for a while.

 

 

When Mark was seventeen (for real this time), he sat on the back of his car and stuck his tongue in Roger’s mouth. They were both drunk, much more drunk than they had been at the make-out room, and they weren’t really aware they weren’t alone.

“This is so weird,” John said from behind the wheel. “Stop them.”

“I’m not getting between _that_ ,” Emily snapped. She was sitting at the back, too, as close to the door as she could without jumping out of the car.

“I think it’s sweet,” Dana said. Then she turned around from the passenger seat and made a face. “Okay, sweet’s not the word.”

“Oh, I don’t want to see this,” John groaned and started the car.

Mark was not going to remember that part later. The whole part where Rogers was practically climbing onto his lap, the part where his hands were doing whatever the hell they wanted in front of _people_ , the part where he didn’t even care.

He would remember going back to Brian’s kitchen with Rogers in tow and knowing people were really staring and he wasn’t just imagining it. And he would remember two more cups of beer.

Then he would remember waking up to his family singing Happy Birthday around his bed, their voices making his head pound.

He would spend the rest of the day with a giant hangover and it would still be his favorite birthday yet. 


	3. The Prom Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never posted the final version of this, mainly because I never finished it until today. I made it especially smutty for you guys.

(Set a little over a year after the epilogue)

-

They met at John’s house, because it was closer to school. Mark and Rogers got there first – they had ran out of Mark’s house before their mothers started openly weeping – and John’s little brother opened the door.

“You’re not wearing a dress,” he said as greeting, looking up at them clad in only a pair of Star Wars pajama bottoms.

“What?” Mark asked after a moment, probably rougher than he intended.

“One of you is supposed to be the girl, right?” The boy explained. “I asked John who was the girl and he said I’d see when you got here.” He looked each of them up and down and finally settled on Rogers.

“Your hair is the longest,” he declared.

“Neither of us is the girl,” Rogers said and somehow he managed to sound amused, even though that particular topic had always been a touchy one. Mark was not finding the kid charming at all. Then again, he was finding it hard not to think of everything as tiring and infuriating that night.

“I thought you were supposed to match,” the kid said, gesturing between their outfits with a small hand.

“Which part of neither of us is the girl didn’t you get, shrimp?” Mark walked past him and into the hall, getting a punch to the side for his trouble.

“I’m not a shrimp,” the boy muttered, offended, and punched him again, this time at the small of his back. “You’re a tall freak and you have a _boyfriend_.”

Mark dodged the small fists until he was in the living room, where John was sprawled on his couch, watching TV.

“Call your minion off me,” Mark told him, pushing John’s feet to the floor so he could sit down. Rogers was following behind, and settled on the arm of the couch, where Mark could lean against him as the kid stared.

“He’s not my boss,” he said. “He doesn’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I would back off,” John told him around a yawn. “Mark gets really angry.”

Rogers’ hands were on Mark’s hair, fingers scratching at his scalp and probably messing up his mother’s careful combing, and Mark watched as the kid trailed the movement with his eyes, a curious frown on his face. He resisted the urge to do something stupid, like stick his tongue out at him, and just let himself be distracted by Rogers instead.

“How long until Emily gets here?” Rogers asked, chest rumbling where Mark was resting against it.

“Any minute now,” John replied. “We’re picking Dana up on the way.”

“She lives the other way around!” Mark cut in, daze broken. He wanted to get this night over and done with as soon as possible.

John gave him a look, “I want to pick her up. Everyone else got to pick their date up.”

“I didn’t pick anyone up.”

“I picked you up,” Rogers mumbled.

“You’re not my date,” Mark said, looking up at him. “Technically.”

“Yes, he is!” The kid yelled and John shushed him with a cringe. “But he is.”

“They’re like, secret dates tonight,” John explained, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the TV.

“Why?” His brother pushed.

All three of them shrugged. Mark was not going to be the one to talk about it, not when the last time the subject had been brought up he had lost his temper in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

“Because our school wants only boys and girls to go together,” Rogers said.

“Then why didn’t you ask a girl?” The kid’s tone implied he thought he was talking to idiots.

Rogers’ fingers tangled in Mark’s hair, tugging slightly before slipping down to his neck.  

“Because I like him.”

“Oh my God,” John muttered, choking back a laugh, and Mark elbowed him quiet.

“But now you don’t have a date!” The kid threw his arms out. “How can you dance and stuff if you don’t have a date?”

“Kyle, shut it,” John warned, but Rogers had apparently decided nothing was going to bohter him that night. He kept talking like they were discussing anything but their lives.

“We can still dance and stuff,” he told the kid. “We’re just not supposed to say that we’re going together.”

“But you _are_ going together.” The kid was starting to sound more and more frustrated.

Mark understood the feeling.

Ever since they had first been approached by the school’s authorities to talk about their ‘situation’ and how some parents had a lot to say about same sex couples and none of it was very nice, Mark had been building up (and holding down) the urge to throttle someone, punch something, scream a few choice curses.

But he was trying not to let it bother him. Not in a way half the world would notice, at least. Only the people that spent enough time with him to be able to pick up the differences between his regular moods and his I-would-shoot-you-if-I-could moods.

It wasn’t like Mark had wanted to go to prom to begin with. Not even Rogers had been that into the idea. That is, until they told them not to advertize their relationship during the thing – like they went around school humping each other in front of freshmen or something.

(“Well, maybe not freshmen but I remember being a lot more innocent before I caught you with your hands up Sandy’s shirt a dozen times too many,” John had said, his eyes fixed on his phone, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“You and the world innocent in the same sentence make me feel kind of sick,” Mark had replied, and then gone off to be angry someplace where John wasn’t contaminating everything with his good mood.)

Now here they were, on their way to _prom_. Mark had never thought he would be attending, much less side by side with Rogers, matching outfits or not. He’d figured that if he went, they’d go as a group, but everyone had dissolved into couples before Mark could blink as soon as the subject had come up, and well, Mark wasn’t one to back out of a challenge.

“We’re going undercover,” Rogers was telling the kid. “We’ll sneak in and dance together before anyone can stop us.”

Mark snorted even as the boy’s eyes widened. If Rogers thought Mark was going to dance he was going to be very disappointed.

“That’s Mark for you,” John said around another yawn, “Stealth in the flesh. All eight feet of him.”

Rogers laughed even as Mark kneed John’s thigh.

“John.”

The four of them turned to see John’s father standing at the doorway, looking like he had fallen asleep in his work clothes. Mark saw his eyes still for a moment on his neck, where Rogers’s hand was firmly clamped, and then slide away to look at his older son.

“There’s someone at the door,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “And you should be in bed, kiddo.”

Mark, John and Rogers walked out of the room before the wailing and begging started. John clapped his father on the shoulder as he passed him and the man turned heavy-lidded eyes on them.

“Have fun, guys.”

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Dana was getting into the back seat and on John’s lap (to John’s obvious delight), Emily and her date were squished together next to them, Rogers was fiddling with the radio in the passenger’s seat and Mark was a ball of nerves at the wheel.

He concentrated on the road as everyone passed around a bottle of something that he refused, trying to talk himself into loosening his shoulders a bit. Or maybe the death grip he had on the gear stick. The music in the car was loud, but not as loud as everyone’s voices chattering away at the back.

One quick look to his right told him that Rogers was just as quiet as he was, leaning against the back of his seat, collar already undone and neck arched back and so close Mark could see himself stopping the car and sucking a bruise right on his pulse point. He probably would have if the four people circus at the back had been absent.

Rogers could read his mind, apparently, because as soon as Mark shook the idea out of his head, he felt warm fingers closing over his own. His hold on the stick was forced to loosen and he swore he could hear the plastic creak in relief even over the music and the laughter. Rogers’ fingers were warm and suddenly Mark felt lighter, if only slightly.

“Aw, Mom and Dad are so sweet,” John called from over Mark’s shoulder, and he sounded buzzed already. “Look at them holding hands even after all these years.”

Mark didn’t have a free hand to flip him off.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” Dana said. He talked slowly, Mark could see her frowning at nothing on the rear view mirror, and knew she was a little drunk as well. “Did you see what John got me?”

She stuck her arm between the seats, showing off the bulge of flowers the same color as her dress. John went a bit red, and Mark smirked to himself.

“Very pretty.” Rogers voice was quiet, his fingers were rubbing Mark’s knuckles and Mark didn’t think Dana heard him at all before she was showing her wrist to Emily. 

“Why is yours bigger than mine?” Emily almost shouted from right behind Mark’s head. “Why’s hers bigger?”

“Bigger’s not always better, I’ve heard,” Dana said, calm as ever (if not a bit slurred), and every guy in the car shifted in their seat. John may have made some sort of noise, but it was drowned by the music.

Emily’s date was a tall guy that didn’t say much but kept an arm firmly around her shoulders the whole drive and sent looks Rogers’ way every now and then. Mark was hoping to catch his eye on the mirror to send him a back-off glare but they got to the school before he had the chance.

Everyone in the back clambered out of the car as soon as it was parked. The doors opened, letting in more loud music and hoots and voices from outside. When they slammed shut a moment later, John was the one that called out a giggly apology before staggering towards the noise, Dana in tow.

Emily and her date decided to make out against the car instead, and Mark resisted the urged to start the engine again and make it lurch, just to get back at the guy. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he felt entitled to.

Rogers’ fingers brushed his hair away from his temple and Mark breathed in and out once before he looked at him properly for the first time that night.

“Nervous?” Rogers asked and Mark scoffed. Rogers’ fingers were tugging his tie back into place and straightening his collar, and Mark raised his hand to his own (stupid) bowtie to check it was still where it was supposed to. “Excited?”

“No,” Mark replied with a sigh and reached out to smooth down Rogers’ lapels. Whether they needed to be smoothed down or not, Mark didn’t really care.

“Me neither,” Rogers said, smiling down at Mark’s hands and a second later they were kissing and Mark – as was usually the case – wasn’t even sure who had leaned in first.

Rogers tasted a bit like whatever the others had been drinking during the ride and Mark clutched at his clothes and pulled him in as close as he could, breathing hard out of his nose. He felt Rogers shudder against him and then the warm, familiar clasp at the back of his neck.

Somewhere behind him, Emily was talking loudly, and then she and her date were gone and Mark was pressing his forehead to Rogers’ and catching his breath, trying to focus on the eyes in front of him, that had gone mostly black.

He didn’t want to get out of the car. He didn’t want to let go, because this night had seemed like the end of…of something ever since they had decided they were attending. He felt like if he broke his hold on Rogers right that moment, he would never manage to get it back. Not really. Not in the same way.

And it wasn’t about prom – Mark didn’t give a shit about that. It was that people thought they had the right to tell him who he could take to prom. It was that they had gotten close to no shit from people at school for the last two years but now they were about to head out to bigger places and Mark didn’t have enough fists to punch all the people that were confused enough to think they had any say in what he did with his life. It was that he and Rogers were going to be hundreds of miles appart and other people were going to look at Rogers and talk to Rogers and want Rogers and Mark wasn’t going to be there to _stop it_.

“Mark,” Rogers panted against his lips, his fingers digging into Mark’s shoulders. “Let’s…later. Later. Now let’s go in there and get this over with.” He swallowed loud enough for Mark to hear over his own harsh breathing. “I want to get you off before midnight.”

“Okay,” Mark groaned and kissed him again, pushing up, pulling in. The car felt cramped all of a sudden. Mark wanted to twist his legs free, touch as much of Rogers as was physically possible, but Rogers was backing away, leaning towards his door with a rough laugh.

“Come on,” he breathed and, brushing his hair back, stepped outside of the car.

“Fucking tease,” Mark called with no real heat in his voice, mostly because he felt he had to, and took a moment to calm down. Rogers rounded the car and waited for him outside the driver’s door, tapping his fingers against the window every couple of seconds.

“You know,” he said as Mark was unfolding himself out of the car, “I forget why we thought this was a good idea.”

“We never thought it was a good idea,” Mark replied, locked up and started walking towards the side of the school building, following the people heading to the gym.

“Yeah.” Mark tried to ignore Rogers’ tone and how it made his stomach clench. They walked side by side, neither too close or too far. Mark doubted anyone would notice if they were walking any other way, but he was feeling secretive. The whole act – unnecessary as it was because, despite what John said, they were _not_ obvious – at least made the night ahead seem sort of exciting. Or very boring, Mark couldn’t decide.

 

 

It turned out to be a little of both.

Mark and Rogers pushed their way into the crowd until they reached a relatively empty space near the pulled-back bleachers and stood there for all of five seconds before Emily and Dana appeared out of nowhere and dragged Rogers away and back into the mob of people. Mark wanted to be annoyed, except he knew John and whatever-Emily’s-date-name-was were probably stuck with the show that Mark knew were Rogers and his friends attempting to dance. He was sort of sorry he was missing it, actually.

He leaned against the bleachers and tried to catch a glimpse of Rogers’ hair over the dozens of heads bobbing up and down in front of him.

While half the people there were too busy minding their own business and didn’t even glance at Mark, unless he was blocking their way to the food tables, the other half apparently thought that there was something going on, and felt the need to send little, conspirational salutes every time Mark caught someone’s eye. Like they were all in in some sort of big ploy. Mark didn’t know what people thought was going on. What he knew was that no one cared about it, and yet someone had felt the need to single him and Rogers (and probably other people in their year, Mark had no idea) out and scare them off.

 He knew that the whole point of being here was to act as if it was no big deal (which it wasn’t) and not feel like he was breaking some sort of law just because Rogers was his not-really-secret date. Or something. Mark hadn’t been part of the idea’s process. He knew that feeling like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to sort of beat the purpose of the thing, but with his classmates waving and winking and nodding at him it was getting harder to feel at ease.

He concentrated on the metal digging into his back and stared ahead at were some band was playing on the other side of the room. He gazed blindly at the lights swaying around and tried to think of nothing further away in the future than that night.

He didn’t know how much time he spent in that odd trance, but before he knew it, Rogers was in front of him and Mark was blinking back to life.

“You were zoned out,” Rogers said, his voice loud. His face was shinny with sweat, strands of hair were sticking to his temples and he was holding onto Mark’s shoulders like he had been prepared to shake him awake.

Mark found his voice to say, “I was thinking about later tonight.” It earned him a grin.

“What if I asked you to come dance with me?”

“What if?” Mark replied, rubbing at his eyes to finish clearing them.

“Would you?”

“Probably not.” Mark found he had trouble saying it. But it wasn’t enough to convince him to dance.

Rogers made a face – half annoyed, half amused.

“You could just stand there and I’d dance around you,” he tried.

Mark barked out a laugh at the mental image. Given that he was probably drunker now than when they were in the car, Mark wasn’t sure how serious Rogers really was, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

“I’ll pass,” he said very clearly. “But I could get us something to drink.”

“Okay,” Rogers conceded. “Just avoid the spiked stuff. I think I just asked to dance around you in a room full of people.”

Mark laughed again and went to get some punch.

 

 

About twenty minutes later, he was being pushed down onto a bench in the deserted locker room by a very enthusiastic Rogers. It hadn’t been too hard to sneak out of the gym and into the empty hallways leading to the showers. In fact, Mark was surprised they seemed to be the only ones there, considering how shamelessly some couples had been grinding against each other on the dance floor.

“You look really fucking good in that suit,” Rogers mumbled against Mark’s mouth.

“Even the bowtie?” Mark asked, hands sliding down Rogers’ sides and untucking his shirt from his pants.

“Especially the bowtie.” Rogers sat astride the bench between Mark’s splayed open legs and damn if that wasn’t a perfect place for him to be. Mark loved it when Rogers decided to make himself comfortable close to his groin. Particularly when he was looking down at him like he wanted to eat him and didn’t know where to begin.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Mark said, looking up at Rogers’ flushed face, his crooked tie and the way his pants were very obviously tenting.

It had been a long time since the first time they’d done anything like this, and it still sent a thrill through Mark every time he saw Rogers look so clearly aroused. They’d never done anything too risky without a locked door between them and the rest of the world, though, and Mark’s excitement was tinted with a little bit of anxiety.

“You good?” Rogers asked, running his hands up and down Mark’s thighs, a little closer to his crotch with every stroke.

“What d’you want to do?” Mark asked instead of replying, and watched Rogers’ eyes darken right before him.

“Not enough time for everything I want to do,” he said, low. He curled his fingers around Mark’s waistband and pulled him closer, dragging Mark’s back across the bench and forcing his legs to slip on top of Rogers’.

“You’re paying for the dry cleaning if you get spunk on this thing.”

“I won’t,” Rogers mumbled as he started on Mark’s belt, fingers clumsy as he bumped onto Mark’s hardening dick through the fabric.

“W-won’t what?”

Rogers took his time answering, instead concentrating on stroking Mark through his pants. Mark’s hips stuttered, his head hitting the bench with a dull thud. He didn’t have anywhere to put his hands, so they hung at his side as he braced himself on the tiled floor.

“Won’t get spunk on your suit,” Rogers finally said after he’d apparently grown bored of teasing Mark. He unzipped Mark’s pants and popped the button, already leaning down to nuzzle at Mark’s navel, his chin bumping against the head of Mark’s dick. It had to be the most uncomfortable position Rogers could have chosen, his back hunched and neck straining, but Mark wasn’t about to complain.

He closed his eyes as Rogers ran his lips down Mark’s length, mouth closed and warm, and Mark reached up and got a handful of curls in his fist.

He remembered the first time they had tried this. Mark had come before Rogers had even managed to move his boxers out of the way (hell, Mark had still worn _boxers_ ), but at the time it had been the best orgasm Mark had ever had. They’d done a lot of experimenting since then, though, and Mark knew that Rogers could drag this out for as long as he wanted.

He could keep Mark on the edge for what felt like hours, if they had enough time and privacy.

Mark wasn’t as good as taking his time. If he had Rogers at his mercy, he preferred to make him come as fast and as hard as he could. He got stupidly insecure if Rogers took too long when Mark had his mouth around him.

Right now, though, his own mouth was the last thing on Mark’s head. He blinked up at the ceiling as he felt Rogers tugging his underwear out of the way, dragging his pants down until they got caught on Mark’s spread thighs.

It was cold in the locker room, and Mark shivered when he felt Rogers’ warm breath on his damp skin. He whined when one of Rogers’ hand closed around the base of his dick, the other one resting low on Mark’s stomach. They could still hear muffled music coming from the gym, and Mark really needed Rogers to hurry and get his mouth on him before he lost his nerve.

“I like it when you make that noise,” Rogers said and this was a recent development. Talking during sex beyond the usual ‘ _is this okay?_ ’s or random curses was new. It’d started with a line similar to Rogers’, one of them admitting to something they loved the other to do, and it had spiraled from there. Rogers had never had much shame when it came to sex, and Mark found he didn’t care much about his inhibitions when he was about to come. He loved to hear Rogers enjoying himself, loved that Rogers liked to hear _him_ talk, so it worked well for them.

Still, Mark wasn’t gone enough yet to reiterate, so instead he flushed down to his chest and jutted his hips up, hitting Rogers’ chin.

“Are you going to blow me anytime soon?” He asked when Rogers pushed him back down.

“And I like it when you’re bossy.” Mark could hear the grin in his voice, and he bit down a smile of his own. He tightened his grip on Rogers’ hair and guided his head down, feeling the way Rogers’ fingers shifted around him, holding Mark’s dick up.

Rogers got with the program quickly enough after that. He worked his mouth over Mark’s dick, wet and with a little teeth while Mark pulled at his hair and felt Rogers groan in return.

Both of them definitely liked it when it hurt a little.

He was pressing against the back of Rogers’ throat when he started to come, and tried to pull him away. But Rogers held him down and swallowed around him and Mark’s vision went a little gray at the edges.

The sound his dick made slipping out of Rogers’ mouth made Mark take in a shuddery breath, his hand releasing Rogers’ hair, and only then did he finally look down.

He saw Rogers carefully tucking him back in, saw how flushed his face was, how red and swollen his lips looked and he had to sit up and kiss him.

He tasted himself on Rogers’ mouth and deepened the kiss as Rogers’ hand abandoned his fly and went around Mark’s back instead.

“Fuck, I bet you’re still loose from this morning,” Rogers mumbled against Mark’s lips, his eyes barely open but focused and intent. Mark bit lightly at Rogers’ lower lip.

“You’re not finding out here,” he said and, trailing his mouth down Rogers’ jaw, he unfastened his belt and shoved his hand down Rogers’ pants. Mark got a firm grip on him and jerked him off in quick, hard little pulls that had Rogers gasping against Mark’s temple.

“ _Mark_ ,” he warned when he was close, and Mark smiled before he remembered the suits.

“Shit,” he hissed and used his other hand to catch as much of the mess as he could, while Rogers gave a breathy laugh and clenched his hands on Mark’s jacket, thighs trembling beneath Mark’s.  

Mark’s pants got the worst of it, and he glared down at his crotch as Rogers laughed against his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said, not sincere at all, and Mark let go of him and left him to make himself presentable while Mark went to wash his hands and try to wipe his pants clean.

He was shaking his hands dry when Rogers found him, looking smug.

“That wasn’t really my fault, you know,” he said. His lips still looked obscene. “I kept _you_ from making a mess.”

“Well, I didn’t decide to drag you here and blow you, did I?”

“You weren’t exactly complaining, either.”

He crowded Mark against the sinks and sneaked his arms around his sides, bracing his hands against the porcelain. Mark looked down at him and tried to be angry, but couldn’t.

“It’s the last time we’ll get to do this,” Rogers said.

“We’ve never done this before.”

“And now we won’t have another chance. Except maybe in a reunion, ten years from now.” He looked away then, at a point over Mark’s shoulder. Mark closed his fingers around his tie hanging between them and pulled a little. Rogers met his eyes again.

“You think you’ll still be able to get it up, ten years from now?”

Rogers laughed and bumped his forehead against Mark’s collarbone, hard.

 

 

There were things they didn’t talk about often. Like what was going to happen when high school was over, when they went to college on opposite sides of the state. Imagining what they were going to be doing in ten years’ time was practically impossible, and slightly disheartening. Mark didn’t know a single grownup who was still sleeping with their high school…significant other.

 

 

“What’re you doing after this?” John asked. He had joined Mark at the sidelines as soon as he spotted him, and Rogers had let go of Mark’s hand to dive back into the crowd. “You guys got a room or something?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied, suddenly cheered at the reminder. Rogers had been the one to make the reservation, sitting on Mark’s bed while Mark listened to his side of the conversation and fantasized about an entire, uninterrupted night where they didn’t need to worry about the noise they made or who was moving around downstairs.

“You guys are so lucky you’re both eighteen,” John whined. “Did you know Dana’s birthday’s in September? I mean, we’re technically breaking the law until then.”

“Didn’t she skip a grade?”

John spluttered, and Mark could see him go pale even in the dim light.

“Are you _serious_?” John asked. “How do you know that and I don’t?”

“Rogers told me,” Mark said – he was pretty sure he remembered Rogers mentioning it at some point. Honestly, Mark knew way too many useless things about Rogers’ friends. He didn’t really mind.

They were going to spend the night together when prom was over, Rogers probably a little drunk and Mark high on the thought that they had paid for their own room, a room they were going to fuck in, and no one had a reason to stop them.

Afterwards, they were going to graduate and go to one last party at Brian’s house, Rogers had insisted.

Then Mark was getting a part-time job for the summer, and Rogers was going to spend one month with his father, just like he had the summer before. They had survived that one, so there was no reason to believe this one would be any different.

They would go to school in September, a few hours’ drive away from each other, and there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t survive that, either.

At least not right then, when Mark was still buzzing with the feeling of Rogers’ mouth on him, when the promise of the night they were going to spend together was so sweet.

Everything looked a little brighter right then, even the cheap prom decorations around him looked beautiful.  


	4. Nothing Compares

(Set during their second year of college.)

-

There was a knock on the door and then Chris called from the bathroom, “Wallace, get that. I’m not decent over here.” 

Mark snorted – it wouldn’t be the first time the guy answered the door naked anyway – but set his books aside and got up from his bed. He stretched with a grunt, making his spine pop, and ran a hand over his face.

He needed a break. He was at the point in which the words he was reading blurred in front of him and stopped making sense. He was _almost_ at the point in which he started throwing books at the floor and balling up his notes in a fit. 

He would see who was at the door (probably one of the guys down the hall recruiting people to go out with) and then he would go downstairs for a coffee or something. Re-charge.

When he opened the door, though, and saw who was on the other side, all thoughts of coffee and throwing stuff out the window vanished.

“Mark,” Rogers said and Mark’s heart practically hit the roof of his mouth.

Rogers was standing there, looking at him from under the rim of a ridiculous woolen hat. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold outside and there were little snowflakes stuck to his scarf.

Mark could feel how wide his eyes were opening and couldn’t control it.

“What,” he started to say and then he was reaching out and taking a handful of Rogers’ thick (but not thick enough, what was he thinking?) coat and pulling him in. His nose was freezing against Mark’s skin. Rogers smiled into his neck and Mark pressed his cheek against Rogers’ temple, felt the other guy’s arms sneak around him.

Mark thought, wildly, that it was the first time he hugged Rogers this tight while fully clothed and wanted to laugh for no reason at all. 

“Hey,” Rogers said.

“What’re you doing here?” Mark asked at last, not that he cared but there were at least four-hundred miles between them and he hadn’t been expecting to see Rogers until Christmas, more than a month away. And even then, he wouldn’t have expected this sort of greeting, considering how they had parted ways the last time they had seen each other.

“Got a weekend off.” Rogers leaned back to look Mark in the eye, but Mark’s body wasn’t responding and his arms remained locked around him, not letting Rogers get too far. “I would’ve called but—”

“Who was it?” Chris asked from the bathroom and Rogers’ gaze shifted to somewhere over Mark’s shoulder.

“For me,” Mark replied, his eyes not leaving Rogers’ face. He looked tired, like he had just spent the last six hours on a bus, which he obviously had but Mark’s brain was taking a moment to absorb that. Because – because the last time they had seen each other – _talked_ to each other – Mark had been sure Rogers would never be willing to travel across the state to meet him. Hell, he had been sure the next time they met someone would throw a punch.

Still, his first instinct was to press Rogers against him. And Rogers didn’t push him away, either, which was a good enough sign for Mark.

“Roommate?” Rogers asked just as the bathroom door clicked shut and Mark nodded and stared at his mouth and at the familiar way his lips shaped words.

The stubble dusting Rogers’ cheeks and chin looked rough, a couple of days old. He seemed taller, but that could be because he was wearing snow boots. He looked suddenly grown up.

Mark wondered how _he_ looked. Probably like he hadn’t seen the light of day for a couple of weeks, which was exactly how he felt. Or how he had been feeling up until two minutes ago.   

When he finally looked back up, Rogers’ eyes had gone a little glazed. “Did you have plans already? I was thinking we could grab a drink and catch up for a bit.”

“Okay,” Mark replied, but the thought of leaving the room didn’t appeal to him anymore. Screw light of day, he could get that any time he wanted. “Or we could stay and catch up in here.”

Rogers bit back a smile, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and pressing their hips a little closer together. Mark’s hands slid down his back to around the area where Rogers’ ass should have been, but it was hard to tell with all the clothes he was wearing.

“If by catch up you mean fuck,” Rogers said, low and close and openly smiling now, “then yeah.”

“Fuck,” Mark repeated and brought Rogers further into the room. “Okay.”

They could talk about why the hell Rogers was there afterwards.

Mark stumbled backwards, pulling Rogers with him and pushed the door closed on the way. Rogers’ hands were ice cold when they climbed up to Mark’s neck.

“Don’t you own a pair of gloves?” He said as he started to undo Rogers’ coat.

“I didn’t know I was coming to the fucking North Pole,” Rogers snapped back, though there was no bite to it. He kissed Mark’s jaw. “I bought the hat at the bus station.”

“It’s a ridiculous hat,” Mark panted and tilted his head so Rogers’ lips were on his.

They fumbled with Rogers’ coat until it slid down his shoulders, and Mark grasped at the sweatshirt underneath, swallowing his thoughts on it (way too thin), and pulled it up.

The shirt caught in the hat as they were getting rid of it and then –

“What the hell?” Mark asked against Rogers’ mouth.

“What?”

“You cut your hair.”

“Oh.” One of Rogers’ hands left Mark’s face as Rogers lifted it to his head. “I’ve been keeping it short.”

Mark pushed Rogers’ hand out of the way and buried as much of his fingers as he could in the short curls. “Why?”

Rogers shrugged and licked his lips. Right, Mark thought, they could get to that later. He leaned down and kissed Rogers again, pushing their chests together, trying to get to the bed. When he finally hit the mattress with the back of his knees, he let himself fall on it, Rogers landing on top of him.

Mark felt paper crumbling beneath him and had the presence of mind to push everything he could reach onto the floor as he scooted further up on the bed. Rogers wasn’t wasting any time getting rid of their clothes, and he was already tugging at Mark’s fly when the bathroom door opened.

Chris’ voice cut between them before Mark could look up from Rogers’ neck.

“Hey, is that Alice? Becau _whoa_! Whoa, Wallace, what the hell?”

Rogers sat up instantly, but Mark had to take a breath before he could face the guy. Chris had been shocked still while drying his hair, his arms were still up and a towel covered his head and most of his face. But Mark could see one wide eye peeking out of it, going back and forth between him and Rogers.

The silence that followed Chris’ question stretched for a few uncomfortable seconds before Mark managed to choke something out. 

“Um,” he started, “give me a couple of hours?”

“Dude, what the fuck? I’ll come back in the morning just-” Chris threw the towel into the bathroom and picked up a shirt and a jacket from his bed. “This is not cool, Wallace,” he muttered as he put them on, eyes everywhere but on Mark and Rogers, half-naked across the room.

A spark of anger made Mark sit up.

“What’s not cool, exactly?” He asked.

“You’re going out with someone!” Chris snapped and Mark felt Rogers tense between his legs. “You’re going out with my girlfriend’s fucking friend. You realize I have to tell her about this, don’t you?”

“I’m not going out with anyone,” Mark said, half to Chris and half to Rogers, whose face was starting to close up.

“Whatever, Wallace.” Chris sighed and opened the door to leave. “Crack open a window or something, okay?”

And then Mark was left alone with Rogers in a room that felt as cold as the night outside. This time, Mark didn’t let the silence envelop them and he spoke quickly before things could get frostier.

“I’m not going out with anyone,” he repeated. “He’s been trying to set me up or whatever. I never-”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Mark,” Rogers said softly. “Of course you’d be- You can do whatever you want.”

Mark huffed. He _could_ do whatever he wanted, but he wasn’t the one that had wanted to be in that position in the first place. He wasn’t the one that had decided distance wasn’t going to work and then had appeared at Rogers’ door without a warning, three months of radio silence later.

“Why are you here?” Mark asked, resting his weight on his elbows, Rogers still kneeling between his legs.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I just…I went home for the weekend and your house – your family’s house was empty and I thought- Well I didn’t really think. I just felt like seeing you. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

He made to get up, but Mark closed his knees around him and stopped him.

“Why? I said I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really change anything.” Rogers looked down at his lap before meeting Mark’s eyes again. He looked so fucking regretful Mark was starting to get angry. “I still don’t think it’d be fair to do this long distance.”

“And how is _this_ fair?” Mark snapped, gesturing between them with one hand.

“I shouldn’t have come! I was…I was drunk, okay? I slept it off on the bus here. When I woke up I was ten minutes away. I stood outside this fucking building for an hour before I came in.”

“Okay,” Mark said. “You came in. Now don’t be an asshole and stay.”

Rogers looked at him for a moment.

“I missed you,” he mumbled. “I didn’t come here just to have sex.”

Mark swallowed before talking back.

“Are you having sex with other people yet?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but the question was already out. He watched Rogers shrug and avert his eyes.

“I…yeah. Occasionally.”

Mark couldn’t help the pang of jealousy, even if he knew he wasn’t entitled to feel it anymore.

“Who with?”

And it had been years since Rogers had flatted out lied to him or avoided to answer him, so Mark knew he was being honest when he said, “I go out, I meet…guys. I don’t know, Mark, I sleep with people.”

“Oh.” 

“But I don’t want to– If you’re seeing anyone, I don’t want to come in between that.”

“I said I’m not,” Mark insisted. They stared at each other until one of them, Mark wasn’t sure who, finally gave in and leaned in again.

\--

When Sandy woke up it took him a moment to remember where he was. He looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling and concentrated on keeping the headache he felt creeping up at bay. His entire body was sore, but not all of it was exactly unpleasant.

He still couldn’t believe he had traveled all the way up here. He hadn’t planned it, not by a long shot. All he had been sure he was going to do that weekend was to visit his mother, sleep a lot and maybe go across the street and see if Mark was home.

But his mother had little time to spare and one of the first things she told Sandy when he arrived on Friday night was that Mark’s parents were away, that Mark hadn’t driven down because he had exams coming up and that she was going to be buried in work until the end of the month.

So Sandy had slept until noon, called to check if anyone else was in town (no one was) and then he had gotten drunk on some of his mother’s wine and a couple of errand beer cans he found in the fridge. Next thing he knew, Sandy was on a bus heading for Mark and he was freezing his ass off.

He hadn’t been sure, standing outside and looking up at Mark’s place, how things were going to go down. He was still slightly buzzed from the alcohol and a lot dizzy from the ride but…but he wanted to see Mark. He wanted to see if things were okay. Better than the last time they’ve spoken. Maybe they could go back to talking, at least. He missed him and if Mark didn’t punch him on sight, Sandy would count it as a win.

The morning after, Mark was sleeping next to him. One of his legs was thrown over both of Sandy’s and one of his hands was resting low on Sandy’s belly under the covers. It had not been part of the plan, but Sandy wasn’t complaining.

He was basking in the warmth and trying not to think that he would have to get up and get on another bus in just a couple of hours when the door opened and Mark’s roommate walked in.

He took one look in their direction and shook his head, muttering something Sandy didn’t catch. He went to the other side of the room, took his jacket off and let it drop onto his bed. After a second, he whirled around and glared at Sandy.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I’m Chris.”

Sandy was thrown for a moment before he replied.

“Um, I’m Sandy, hey.” He tried to sit up but Mark was keeping him down, and he didn’t want to wake him, so he lay there, feeling awkward as hell. “And it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“Look, I know who you are,” the guy went on, “I mean, I think I know. Wallace came back last summer all bummed out and I knew he had been dumped or something but he never…was that you?”

“Yeah,” Sandy said, squirming a little. It was not his best memory.

“I didn’t realize you were a dude. I mean, I thought it was weird that he wasn’t going out and that he kept refusing to meet—” Chris cut himself off. “He never said, but I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did yesterday.”

“Right….”

Chris sighed, “Are you like, getting back together now or something?”

Sandy felt his stomach turn and had to look away for a second before he could answer. Long distance hadn’t worked. They both had been miserable the whole time, and when they did get to see each other, it wasn’t nice or fun. It had been at first, but things had deteriorated as the year went by.

Sandy had missed Mark constantly, and it had started to affect his grades and his relationships with his friends and he knew Mark was going through something similar. So he had decided taking a break was for the best.

“No,” he replied. “I don’t think so.”

Chris stared at him, his face blank, before he sighed again and sat down on his bed.

“Then what are you doing here?” He asked. “He was better. Gay or straight or whatever, he had agreed to meet with this girl. Then you jump at each other the second you arrive and now what? Back to the beginning.” 

Sandy didn’t say anything. He knew it had been a mistake, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret it. Because he had missed Mark when they’d been trying to make it work, but after they had stopped – after they had yelled at each other and gone back to school, it had been even worse. Missing and wanting and hating it. Sandy could only imagine Mark’s mood in the last months.

“I--” he started to say, he wasn’t sure what, when Mark stirred next to him and his hand moved lower down his belly. Sandy almost jumped out of the bed. He elbowed Mark’s chest, hard, and heard him grunt next to his ear.

“What….” Mark breathed and clamped his hand high on Sandy’s thigh.

“Your roommate is here,” Sandy mumbled.

He was glad they had put on their underwear and shirts back on the night before – right after Mark had tripped out of bed to open the window – otherwise, Chris would have gotten an eyeful when Mark sat up all of a sudden.

“Hey,” Mark said, not sounding fully awake yet. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” Chris sounded resigned. “Sorry about yesterday. I didn’t say anything to Millie. Yet. I figured you could tell her. I’ll stand behind you as moral support or something.”

“Okay.” Mark was starting to look more alert now.

All three of them were quiet for a moment until Chris clapped his knees and got up.

“Okay, I’m gonna go have some breakfast now. I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” Mark managed to say before the door closed and they were alone again.

\--

Mark sat on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands as Rogers showered. There had been a weird moment in which they had both gone into the bathroom and almost into the shower together, but with one look they had decided it wasn’t a good idea.

Mark wasn’t delusional. He knew the night before didn’t change anything. But still, it had… _moved_ things inside of him. It had been stupid. It had been a bad idea.

He had just managed to stop thinking about (resenting) Rogers everyday. He had agreed to go out with Chris and his girlfriend and this girl he was supposed to meet. And now all these memories were filling his head and he had almost forgotten what it was like to be under Rogers, to know that his hands could roam anywhere they wanted, that most everything was game with them.

But that was the way they worked. Holding back had never been something they could do well. Neither of them. Now Mark wondered how he was going to feel tomorrow, when Rogers was gone. It wasn’t that he had consciously kept the fact that Rogers was a guy from people. It was just that no other guy interested him, so what was the point in making people believe he was entirely gay if he wasn’t. He was (or had been before the night before) all for dating this supposedly great girl. He didn’t think he could go out with that girl anymore, not without feeling Chris’ eyes on his back the entire time. Or the ghost of Rogers’ lips on his skin, fresh once again.

Just as Mark was thinking this, Rogers came out of the bathroom enveloped in a cloud of steam. His hair was damp and sticking up everywhere, his skin scrubbed pink, and Mark had to check himself before he let his arousal win him over.

The room was still cold from leaving the window open half the night, and Mark busied himself by getting Rogers a thicker sweatshirt to wear. They didn’t say much until they were outside, walking towards the bus station.

It was early in the afternoon, sunny but cold enough so that their breath fogged up in front of their faces as they walked, shoulder to shoulder.

Mark sent Rogers a sidelong glance, going for casual and probably failing, and saw him hunched up, his stupid hat all the way down to his ears. He snorted.

“Are you that cold?” He asked and, before Rogers could answer, reached out and took his hand in his gloved one. He stuck both in his coat pocket and didn’t look to see Rogers’ reaction. This (walking around holding hands like a couple of fourteen year-olds) wasn’t something they did even when everyone and their dog knew about them, back home. But he felt Rogers squeezing back, and didn’t give a shit about what they looked like.

“Are you going back for the holidays?” Rogers asked after they’d walked a few more blocks.

“Mmh,” Mark nodded. “Mom keeps bugging me because I never visit anymore.”

“Yeah, you haven’t been around. Lately.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” Mark said, keeping his tone light. He hadn’t gone back at all since he and Rogers had broken up. He had been afraid he would run into him.

“You should,” Rogers cleared his throat, “I mean, you should bring someone. For New Year’s or something.”

Mark felt like he had been punched in the gut, and tried not to show it. He loosened his grip on Rogers’ hand, but Rogers just held on tighter.

“The whole point of, of splitting up was to try new things,” Rogers went on. “With new people. Right?”

“I thought the whole point was that we were too horny to only see each other every two weeks,” Mark muttered, with no real heat. Rogers sighed.

“You should be hooking up left and right,” he said. Mark’s ears perked up at his unhappy tone. He sounded as miserable and grouchy as Mark had felt when Rogers had told him he was already sleeping with other people. 

Mark didn’t reply, but he grabbed at Rogers’ hand with renewed force. He was sort of glad Rogers wasn’t moving on as easily as he had seemed.

Rogers bought his ticket at the station just as the bus was pulling up. They kissed one time, dry lips closed and pressed together, Rogers’ hand still in Mark’s pocket, and then looked at each other for a second.

“You should bring someone, too,” Mark said, but he made no effort to hide his distaste at the idea. “We’ll compare and everything.”

“I’m sure our mothers will do that for us, anyway.” Rogers smiled a little.

“And if we don’t bring anyone,” Mark ventured. There was a little part of him, the one that was holding on to the night before like a life line, that was still a tiny bit hopeful. Rogers finally slipped his hand out of Mark’s hold and put it in his own pocket.

He seemed to consider Mark, still smiling slightly, and said, “We’ll see what happens then.”

After the bus was long gone, Mark finally made his way back. He decided against going right into his room and went for a coffee instead. He needed a while before facing his mess of a bed and going back to his books.

 


	5. Jessica's Wedding - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, the college story was going to be the first part of the Underlying sequel, which was basically going to be a recollection of stories showing Mark and Sandy meeting again and again over the years. This one is another one of those times. 
> 
> I'll try to have the second part ready soon.

(Takes place about 4 or 5 years after the college chapter.)

-

Ian walked into the kitchen to find a very freckled man sitting at the table. He stopped short, trying to quickly put together what little he knew about Sandy’s family. Had he ever mentioned a cousin around his age? He wouldn’t neglect to say he had a brother, would he? The guy didn’t look like him at all, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Um, hi,” he said.

The man stood up and _whoa_ , okay, he was also very tall. Ian had to fight the impulse to take a step back (and okay, the impulse to sweep his eyes up and down the guy’s body – he had a bit of a size kink). The man was giving him a look, like he couldn’t understand what Ian was doing there when _he_ had been invited, thank you very much. He hadn’t been sitting in a dark kitchen waiting for someone to come in, like certain people.

“You’re here for the wedding?” Scary asked and his voice was deep and really, it was a shame about the freckles, because Ian approved of absolutely everything else. From his piercing eyes down to his long, long legs.

“Yeah,” Ian cleared his throat. “I’m here with Sandy.”

Now the guy’s face changed to incredulous, raised eyebrows and everything.

“You’re Rogers’ date?” He asked, and Ian instantly took offense at his tone. He didn’t need to sound so surprised.

He wasn’t sure if the guy was implying he was out of Sandy’s league or just the wrong sex altogether, but he didn’t like the way he was being stared at, as if he failed to measure up to something.

“You got a problem with that?”

The guy scoffed, _scoffed_ , and turned his head to the side, averting his eyes. Ian pursed his lips, his arms crossed tightly over his narrow chest. God, he felt ridiculously tiny next to this guy.

“He didn’t say he was bringing anyone.” The guy sent him a sideways glance, smiled a bit. “But I’m sure we can find somewhere you’ll fit.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ian asked, as calmly as he could. “Are you calling me small? Because everyone in the world must look small to you from up there.”

“I’m not calling you anything.”

“Who even are you? Are you supposed to be here?”

The guy faced him properly again before answering, “I’m sure I’m more welcome here than you, Tiny.”

Ian spluttered – he didn’t know what to say. People had stopped calling him names in _middle_ _school_.

“How old _are_ you?”

The guy opened his mouth to answer when Sandy spoke from somewhere in the house.

“Ian?” He called and the guy’s freckled face smoothed out completely. Ian frowned at him.

“I’m in the kitchen with some homophobic weirdo, come save me,” he shouted over his shoulder. A muscle in the guy’s jaw twitched and Ian smirked.

“Who?” Sandy asked as he stepped inside and then, much like Ian had done, froze. For about half a millisecond before he was smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. “Mark.”

“Hey,” Freckles – _Mark_ , said. Ian was sort of floored: he had never seen Sandy make that face at anybody. He turned to see Mark smiling back, though not as wide or goofy-looking.

“What are you doing here?”

Sandy had no business sounding the way he did. It had taken months and a _very_ thorough blowjob for Ian to get that tone out of him. Who the hell was this guy that all it took was a look at his spotty face and Sandy was already drooling. This was completely ridiculous and insulting and wrong and Ian was not going to stand here and witness any more of it.

“Who is he?” He snapped and then winced at the way his voice decided to climb a couple of notches without his permission.

“He’s the bride’s brother,” Sandy explained, giving Ian a confused look. Apparently he had no idea how obvious he was. Great. “Mark.”

“I was ordered to bring these to your mother,” Mark said and gestured to a small bouquet of flowers on the counter. “I was waiting for someone to wake up.”

Ian waited for a second before tilting his head at Sandy with his best ‘ _go on’_ face.

“This is Ian,” Sandy belatedly told Mark. “My date.”

_That’s right_ , Ian wanted to say but Mark didn’t even appear to have heard the date part. He was still standing there, hands now in his pockets, staring at Sandy like it was the first time in decades. And for all Ian knew, it was. Sandy had never mentioned a Mark since they’d met.

“How’s Jessica?” Sandy asked as he walked towards the flowers. Mark shifted to the side, leaning back against the counter. “Nervous?”

“I’m not allowed to see her until she’s ready. Dad and Dan are practically tearing their hair out. Mom is acting nuts. I don’t want to be in their way tomorrow.”

“When should we come over tonight?”

Mark shrugged, “Whenever.”

He stared at Sandy’s profile while he messed with the flowers on the counter and, to Ian’s total horror, reached out a hand and plucked a curl away from his eyes.

“You’re growing it out again,” he said, voice quiet. Ian felt like he was eavesdropping, which was stupid. He was the only person in the room allowed to touch his date’s (admittedly sort of unattractive and way too shaggy) hair. If anyone should feel embarrassed for their behavior it was Mark.

“Missed wearing it long,” Sandy replied quietly.

Now, if by this point Ian wasn’t jumping up and down and demanding attention, it was because he was pretty sure not even that would make Mark or Sandy look at him. He resigned himself to sitting down at the table and waiting it out. He would plan his revenge later.

It was true him and Sandy were not serious or anything, but it was only polite not to eye-fuck someone else in your date’s presence, wasn’t it?

A moment later, when Mark finally managed to look away from Sandy, his eyes landed on Ian. Now, Ian’s face was pretty transparent on a regular day. When he was annoyed, he wanted people to know it. He was expecting Mark to mock him for it or something, but instead, the man winced and turned towards the door.

“I should get back before someone comes to drag me away,” he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Tell your mom I said hi. See you later, Rogers. Um, Ian.”

And then he was out the door.

Sandy was left staring after him, but Ian couldn’t see his expression from where he was sitting.

“Well,” he said loudly and waited until Sandy looked at him. He was a little red in the face, looking ashamed, at least. Ian was already softening, his annoyance giving way to incredulity.

“Sorry about that,” Sandy offered, and set about preparing them coffee.

“Tell me you at least did him,” Ian told Sandy once they were sitting across from each other, two steaming mugs in front of them. “Tell me you haven’t been this disgustingly obvious since forever and never did anything about it.”

Sandy only looked at him, hands fiddling with his coffee mug. Ian narrowed his eyes at him. After that little spectacle, he deserved some answers.

He gestured for Sandy to speak.

“We were together for a while,” Sandy said with a sigh.

“How long?” Ian asked, and ignored the little flare of hope that burned in his chest every time an attractive man was suddenly revealed to be queer. He hadn’t even liked Mark, broad shoulders and pretty eyes aside.

“Three years when we were teens, then on and off for a while after that.”

Ian spluttered, barely managing to keep himself from spitting hot coffee all over himself.

“Three _years_?” He asked. His longest serious relationship had lasted the better part of a year, and that still felt like too much. Too much commitment, too many sacrifices. “And then some? Why am I only now hearing about this?”

Sandy shrugged, taking a sip from his mug.

It was true he wasn’t the most communicative guy Ian had ever met, but a three-year long relationship with another boy during high school was probably worth a story or two. A passing comment, a silly anecdote, _something_.

Then something occurred to him.

“When was the last time?”

Sandy’s cheeks went a little pink. “Six months ago or something like that.”

“ _Six m_ \- But I’ve known you for longer than that! When did you have time to hook up with your high school sweetheart without me finding out?”

“We met at this thing, for his brother’s school. He filmed a short for one of his classes and they played it at-”

“So every once in a while one of you finds an excuse to see each other and fuck?” Ian cut him off. “Because that would’ve been nice to know.”

“No!” Sandy argued, then, lowering his voice, “No, we didn’t _plan_ it. Dan, his brother, he invited a bunch of people and we ran into each other. It had been months before that. And you and me, we weren’t even a thing back then.”

Ian ignored the little voice in his head telling him they weren’t even a _thing_ now, not really. A couple of fucks spread around the last month hardly meant anything to either of them. But this Mark was clearly something else for Sandy, and Ian was nothing if not proprietary.

“Well, are you gonna fuck him this weekend? Let me know so I at least start looking for options myself. He has a brother, you said?”

Sandy laughed, rubbing at his eyes.

“Shut up, I’m not going to do anything. We have this, this rule, I guess. I brought a date. And I’m sure he did as well.”

“So you only do it when you’re both single?”

Sandy looked shifty.

“Mostly, yeah. There have been…exceptions.” He rolled his eyes. “And both our families are here, there’s going to be people everywhere. There’s no way we’d-”

“Please, spare me your reasoning. Just promise you won’t do anything and I’ll believe you, I guess.”

“I won’t,” Sandy said, earnest. “Promise.”

Ian didn’t believe him for a second - if the way Sandy’s eyes kept darting over to the door Mark had disappeared out of was any indication, they’d be all over each other before the rehearsal dinner was over.

\--

Mark entered the house through the kitchen, hoping to avoid everyone for at least a couple more minutes. Instead, he found most of his family gathered around the table, his mother going over the seating plan with a look on her face that told Mark not to open his mouth unless he was ready to be told off.

Dan looked up from his phone in time to see Mark trying to sneak past them and out into the sitting room.

“Hey, where’ve you been?” He asked, a small smile on his face. Mark glared at him, subtly flipping him off before their mother turned his way.

“Did you take the corsage to Hannah?” She asked.

“Yeah, left it in the kitchen for her,” he said, and opened the fridge for a drink, since he was already caught.

“The kitchen? Why didn’t you give it to her? Mark, I _asked_ you to-”

“Why were you gone an hour then?” Dan piped in and really, Mark regretted all the times he had sort of missed his younger brother the last couple of years - he wanted to strangle him at the moment.

“I-”

“Did you run into Sandy?” His dad asked, eyes set on the plan in front of him.

Mark fidgeted, suddenly feeling the weight of his mother’s stare.

“Um, yeah.”

There was a silence, and Mark could feel his temper rising. He tamped it down, took a breath, and faced his mom properly.

“What?” He asked, setting his jaw. They were always so wary about him and Rogers seeing each other, as if they were still sixteen and throwing punches before even uttering a word.

To be fair, Mark’s parents didn’t know about them meeting from time to time, to catch up and maybe have sex if they felt like it – which was more often than not. Mark was an adult, he didn’t have to tell his mother about what he did on free weekends or long, lonely nights when he couldn’t sleep and didn’t mind the drive.

“How is he? I haven’t seen him in a while,” his mom said, going for nonchalant. Mark rolled his eyes. He didn’t miss the slightly accusatory tone.

“Why don’t you go and ask him, if you miss him so much?”

“Don’t be rude, I was only asking,” she argued, but went back to the table and the mess of papers scattered on it. “You should have invited him over for breakfast.”

Mark didn’t comment on the mess covering practically every inch of the kitchen. Instead, he glanced over at Dan, who was looking at him, and said, “He brought a date.”

Dan made a face of mock pity, lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, and Mark glared at him. What a little asshole.

“Oh,” his mother said. And then, “ _Oh_ ,” when she realized she now had to figure out where to put Roger’s date, since the idiot hadn’t told them in advance.

Mark opened his mouth to tell her that he was sure they could fit the little guy at the kid’s table, but decided against it. He wasn’t going to be petty. First of all, Dan would never let him live it down. And second of all, it wasn’t like he was _jealous_.

Maybe just disappointed.

It had been almost six months since the last time they had seen each other. Dan had begged him to go to his end of the year presentation at school for weeks, and Mark had finally caved, only to find out Rogers was also there when he ran into him entering the event.

Dan still hadn’t forgiven him for bailing on the showing of his film. Or for having sex with Rogers in his room back at the apartment Dan shared with three other guys, all of which had thought _Dan_ was the one locked in his room with another man all night.

“They look at me weird when I have guy friends over! They started wearing shirts around the common areas all the time. It’s weird!” He had told Mark over the phone.

“They’re assholes,” had been Mark’s brotherly insight.

“Yeah, but I save so much money living with them. I don’t wanna go back to the dorms.”

Mark had hung up on him, he wasn’t sure what Dan had wanted to achieve calling him anyway.

So yeah, it had been six months since then, and maybe Mark had decided not to bring a date to his sister’s wedding hoping Rogers would do the same.

That had been a stupid idea.

“Where you nice?” His dad asked and Mark huffed, already guessing that was the way he was going to be treated all weekend. Like a child who couldn’t behave in company.

Nevermind that he hadn’t exactly been nice.

“Yes, I was nice,” he said anyway, he doubted _Ian_ would tell on him.

“Mmh,” his mom hummed, distracted. “You should invite them out for lunch.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening.” It was bad enough that he was going to see them at the rehearsal dinner that night. If he had to sit through two meals of Rogers and his date touching and talking and looking at each other Mark wouldn’t be able to keep his food down.

“Aw, is little Mark jealous?” Dan said, his voice loud enough that Jessica probably heard from upstairs. “You want a boyfriend, too?”

“He’s not Rogers’ boyfriend,” he snapped, and Dan’s expression told Mark he had been a little too fast to reply. “He didn’t say he was.”

“You don’t bring just anyone to a wedding, though,” his mom said, still pondering over the seating plan. Mark wanted to go upstairs to his old room and hide for a while. “What was he like?”

“Short,” Mark grumbled, and Dan and his father laughed.

Mark bristled, as he did every time someone laughed at something he said when he wasn’t trying to be funny. It always felt like they were laughing at him. But he tried not to let it bother him. Ian _had_ been short. Dainty, almost. All flailing hands and cocked hips, his hair styled even first thing in the morning. Mark couldn’t help but to draw comparisons and wonder.

“Enough with that,” his mom scolded them. “You haven’t even met the boy yet, don’t start making fun of him.”

“We weren’t,” Dan said, turning back to his phone when it chimed in his hand. “Mark started it.”

Mark kicked at his chair, and the resulting argument got them thrown out of the kitchen.

“You could try not being a little shit for once,” Mark told his brother, shoving him as they made their way up the stairs.

“You know one of my roommates got a lock for his door?”

“I told you they’re assholes,” Mark said. He wondered if it was too late to call Bianca and invite her to the wedding. He wondered if it would send the wrong message, it wasn’t really serious between them but now he felt ridiculous for having expected-

Fuck, he wondered if Rogers liked that Ian was so much smaller than him.

“Mark!” Mark nearly missed a step at the shout, grabbing at the banister to keep from face planting on the stairs.

“ _What_ ,” he grumbled as Dan snickered.

“Did you tell Sandy to be at the restaurant at seven tonight?” His mother asked from downstairs.

Shit.

“I’ll text him.”

Rogers had asked at what time to be over that night, and Mark had been too distracted to give him a straight answer.

Seeing Rogers again had been like a breath of fresh air, unexpected company or not. He looked good, hair at about the length Mark liked best, stubble dusting his jaw. His voice had sounded a little rough, like it usually did before he had coffee in the morning. It wasn’t Mark’s fault that it was hard to formulate words when Rogers was all of a sudden standing close to him, looking sleep-mussed and smelling so familiar.

“Be sure you do,” his mother said and went back to the kitchen. “Oh! And find out if his date will have chicken or vegetarian, please!”

“Should give him leftovers,” Mark muttered as he dug his phone out of his pocket. “Wasn’t even invited.”

“Mark, don’t be bitter,” Dan said, clapping his back a little too hard. “You should’ve invited Sandy yourself if you wanted it so much. Don’t take it out on the poor guy.”

“Shut up.” Mark shrugged his brother’s hand off him and trudged the rest of the way up the stairs. He bypassed Jessica’s old bedroom door, listening to her and her friends talking loudly on the other side.

Once in his and Dan’s old room, he went over to his half and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Sometime during the summer between senior year and going away to college, him and Rogers had gotten a bit too enthusiastic on his bed and one of the legs had broken off. Mark had never bothered to replace it, choosing instead to leave his mattress down on the floor and get rid of the broken frame before his parents could ask what had happened.

Sitting down so low and looking up at his old wardrobe, posters on the walls and rickety desk made Mark feel even bigger than he normally did in his family home. Especially because his legs were too long to find a comfortable position to sit on on a worn mattress on the floor.

Absently, he listened as Dan messed with something on his side of the room, humming to himself, and Mark had to smile. For a second he felt sixteen again, sitting in his room, thinking about Rogers.

Right, Rogers. He needed to text him.

Phone unlocked in his hands, he faltered. He’d gotten better at texting Rogers over the years. He no longer sent dry, one-sentence messages with no punctuation that made it hard to figure out the tone of. Somehow, though, knowing that Ian was going to be there when Rogers got Mark’s text made it harder to type.

_Rehearsal dinner at 7_

That was good enough, he thought, and hit send before he could overthink it. A minute later, his phone buzzed.

_Ok!_

And then,

_It was good seeing you today._

Mark hadn’t been expecting that follow-up, and he was embarrassed of how warm it made him feel to read the words.

Maybe he really needed to get laid soon. Maybe he should have called Bianca after all, and risk her thinking too much of it.

It took him the better part of ten minutes to figure out what to reply, and he still wanted to kick himself when he ended up sending _does ian want chicken or veg?_

It was possible his texting skills had not improved much after all. It could be that being in his childhood room, in his town, going over to Rogers’ house hoping to see him, had been messing with his head.

The reply came almost instantly.

_Veggy for him. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know in adv. You bring anyone?_

Mark felt pathetic. Had he been so obvious back at Rogers’ house that now Rogers felt like he had to apologize to him?

_Shld say sorry to mom shes stressing over where t sit him_

There. Maybe now Rogers would stop texting him and bother his mother instead. His phone buzzed, and buzzed again and again until Mark realized Rogers was fucking _calling_ him.

He considered not answering for all of three seconds before caving.

“Yeah,” he said into the receiver, trying to keep his voice low. Dan was just a few feet away and always up for snooping.

“I didn’t even think about that,” Rogers said in his ear. He sounded flustered. “The invitation said plus one.”

“Well, you didn’t rsvp'd a plus one, did you?”

There was a pause.

“Shit,” Rogers sighed. “I’ll call her and say sorry.”

“You do that.”

Another pause, this one longer. Mark strained to hear what was going on on Roger’s end, but he could only hear him breathing.

He was about to end the call before he got weird about hearing Rogers breathe, for fuck’s sake, when there was a rustle on the other end of the line.

“It really was good to see you, you know,” Rogers said. “I,um, kinda hoped we could catch up.”

Mark frowned, unsure of what Rogers meant by ‘catch up’. Either way it was making him a little hot under the collar, another sign that he needed to get a grip.

“I’ll be at dinner tonight-”

“Danny invited us to the bachelor party tomorrow,” Rogers barreled on and Mark nearly choked on his own tongue. He’d forgotten about the damn bachelor party.

“You know we’re just going to a bar, right?” He said. “No crazy stunts for the future Mr. Jessica Wallace.”

Rogers laughed quietly, the sound sending a shiver down Mark’s spine.

“A much better environment for catching up,” Rogers said and Mark could just picture his goofy grin, the one that was a little lopsided and always made an appearance when Rogers was trying to flirt.

Mark was embarrassed to admit to himself that he was absolutely helpless to it and he was glad that he wasn’t actually seeing it.

“I guess, yeah,” he stuttered out when he realized it had been quiet for too long. “Catch up, yeah.”

“You okay?” Rogers asked. Mark ran a hand down his face and let out a long sigh. “Mark, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I just-” He huffed, annoyed at himself. They’d gotten over their issues with communication years ago. Mark was a grown man, he could be honest with someone he’d trusted with stuff he’d never allowed other people to see. Or do. “I just hoped you were coming alone.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Rogers said, and he sounded genuinely sorry. “I should have told you.”

“No, it’s not like, I mean...You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I kinda do, I think,” Rogers argued, and Mark could hear him moving around. He wondered if Ian was listening to his side of the conversation. He was a hundred percent sure Dan was listening to his. “When was the last time we saw each other and didn’t, you know.”

Mark snorted.

“No, I don’t know. Please tell me what you mean.”

“Prick,” Rogers said, sounding almost fond. Mark smiled down at his lap. “Anyway, the answer is never. I don’t think there’s a single time we’ve met after, um, ending things when we didn’t end up getting each other off.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s not right.” Mark said. He was positive they hadn’t fucked last time they had met at a New Year’s party a few years back and they’d both had dates. At midnight, Mark had kissed the girl he’d brought to the party, and he hadn’t gone off to find Rogers until it was well into the morning the following day and she had taken a cab home.

That counted as a whole event where they hadn’t seeked each other out.

“I’m not going to make a list Mark, but our record is not the best.” Rogers didn’t even sound serious but Mark kept quiet about it.

“What’d you mean with catch up?” He asked instead, and winced. Idiot.

“I meant talk,” Rogers sighed. “I had to tell Ian about you and I promised I wouldn’t- That I wouldn’t.”

“Do you usually have to promise your boyfriends you’re not going to sleep with other people at parties?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” He sounded like he knew exactly what Mark was doing and he liked it. “But he’s very possessive. Likes to mark his territory. I’m not sure who he reminds me of.”

“Fuck off,” Mark said with a laugh, feeling his cheeks burn. “He won’t mind that you talk to me, then?”

“Don’t care,” Rogers said and Mark laughed again, before flopping back onto his old mattress, feeling all of sixteen all over again. Giddy like a little boy. He really hoped Dan wasn’t listening.

“Fine,” he breathed, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess we can catch up then.”

\--

The rehearsal dinner was a blur of last minute seating changes, arriving relatives calling for directions to the hotel most of them were staying in, and Jessica barely managing to keep her temper in check during the first course, when some of Jeremy’s cousins got a little too drunk, a little too fast.

Mark sat at the main table between Dan and Jeremy’s sister, and tried not to look over at Rogers too much, sitting with Ian a few feet away and in perfect view. Hannah Rogers kept catching his eye and waving, and each time Mark felt his ears burn at being caught.

The thing was that Mark hadn’t seen Rogers in a suit since his parents’ anniversary party a few years back, and that night had ended with them hiding out in the men’s room, Rogers on his knees and his tie wrapped around Mark’s hand. It wasn’t the best memory to be dwelling on with his mother right across the table from him, but Mark couldn’t help himself. Every time he caught a glimpse of Rogers in his suit he remembered how his slacks had been ruined that time, the knees and groin wet, his shirt wrinkled beyond repair. Mark’s yanking had carved a red line on the back of his neck, and his lips had been puffy, the skin around them pink.

Mark shifted in his chair, and tried to keep his eyes on his food.

Ian spent half the night talking close to Rogers’ ear, and the other half glaring over at Mark with a possessive arm slung over the back of Rogers’ chair.

Mark tried not to let it bother him, but as the night wore on, his patience wore thin. By the time the little parfait cups were being brought out, Mark was ready to call it a night. Dessert meant people started getting up and mingling, and he just happened to be sitting at the most popular table.

Jessica looked a lot calmer by then, probably due to the fact that Jeremy had kept her champagne flute topped up for most of the night, and she beamed at every person who approached to congratulate them. Mark was happy for her. He liked Jeremy and they seemed to be good for each other. It didn’t make the socializing any easier, and Mark was already dreading Sunday, when the real event was taking place and even more people would be in attendance.

He was ready for it, but it was still too soon when Rogers came over, his mother and Ian in tow.

“Sandy!” Jessica greeted him, getting up a little sloppily and throwing her arms around him. Ian barely avoided getting hit in the face by one of her rings. Rogers laughed and returned the hug, catching Mark’s eye over Jessica’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows at him.

Mark mimed gulping down a drink and ignored Dan’s unsubtle snicker next to him - he wasn't that much better off than their sister.

“Hey, Jessica,” Rogers laughed. “Congratulations, you look amazing.”

“Wait ´til you see me on the actual day,” she said, moving away and hugging Hannah Rogers next. Jeremy got up and clasped Rogers’ hand between two of his, introducing himself.

“Ooh, you brought a _date_ ,” Jessica cooed, waggling her fingers in Ian’s face.

“Yeah, and everyone’s been acting _really_ cool about it,” Ian said, slanting a look Mark’s way before sticking a small hand out at Jessica. “I’m Ian.”

Dan nearly toppled the table over reaching out to shake his hand next and Mark shoved him back into his seat, averting everyone’s eyes. He could feel Rogers looking at him as they all talked, their parents huddling around Jessica and Jeremy while Ian went around the table, apparently happy to speak to Dan.

Mark frowned at them, annoyed with his brother’s easy going nature, and caught Rogers rolling his eyes at his date. Mark itched to get up and make his way to him, just to talk or maybe get a closer look at him now that Ian was distracted.

He stayed put, knowing everyone around him would be watching their every move.

In the end, it was Rogers who approached first and sat on Dan’s abandoned seat.

“So,” he said, long fingers fumbling with his tie. “Remember last time we were here?”

It came to Mark in a rush, and he felt the way his entire face grew warm. This was the same restaurant where his parents had celebrated their anniversary. Mark and Rogers had circled around each other in this very same room, until Rogers had given in and disappeared into the restroom. Mark had followed close behind.

“Yeah,” he croaked out, and had to clear his throat as Rogers smiled down at Dan’s melting parfait, left on the table.

“My date is flirting with your brother,” he said a few seconds later. Mark looked up at Ian and Dan, talking just a few feet away. Dan was laughing and Ian was leaning into him, looking up through his eyelashes.

“Shouldn’t you be over there, then?” Mark asked. “You used to-”

Mark bit off the rest of his sentence, but Rogers perked up. He searched Mark’s face as he waited for him to continue, and then nudged Mark’s knee with one of his when he didn’t.

“I used to what?”

“Nothing,” Mark sighed.  

“Come on, what? I used to...get really jealous when you flirted with other people?” He guessed, smirking. Mark fought down a smile of his own, all too aware of Ian probably keeping an eye on him.

“I never flirted with other people.”

“Other people flirted with you,” Rogers corrected himself, and nudged him again. “And _he’s_ not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, you said.” People were talking loudly around them, and they were leaning more and more towards each other as they spoke in order to hear what the other was saying. Up close, Mark could see the golden stubble on Rogers’ chin in perfect detail, and Rogers could probably count individual freckles on Mark’s face. It was startling to know that Rogers looking at him closely still didn’t make him self-conscious, and hadn’t for a long, long time. “Then are you dating?”

Rogers made a face, nose scrunched up as he thought about it.

“No,” he said. “We haven’t been on any dates. Except for this weekend, I guess.”

Mark didn’t want to know anymore.

“Pretty big date,” he muttered, sending a quick look Ian’s way. A few other people had joined him and Dan, and they were all talking animatedly, glasses in hand. “A wedding.”

Rogers was quiet for a moment before leaning in closer, close enough one of his curls brushed Mark’s cheek.

“I thought you were bringing someone, didn’t want to make it awkward.”

Mark inhaled through his nose, heat unraveling in his belly. Fuck Rogers.

“He saw the invitation in my dresser-”

“Stop,” Mark managed to say. He didn’t want any more visuals, didn’t want to wonder what Ian had been doing rutting around Rogers’ dresser. “You don’t have to explain.”

“You asked.”

Mark met Rogers’ eye and saw that the man knew exactly what he was doing. Mark wanted to be angry, but it was thrilling to know Rogers was still willing to go out of his way to fluster Mark. It was even more thrilling when Mark wasn’t seeing anyone, and Rogers was willing to pretend he wasn’t either, at least for a while.

The fact that Rogers was probably a little drunk dampened things considerably, especially when Mark had barely touched his glass.

“How much wine did you have?” He asked, taking in Rogers’ flushed cheeks.

“Too much,” he said around a smile, full lips wet. “Had to distract myself from you staring at me all night.”

Mark’s ears burned again, but he ignored it.

“Also, you look good in a suit.”

This time it was Mark who smirked, thinking about the last time they had been in that restaurant, Rogers pushing Mark against the tiled wall of the restroom, muttering about how good his ass looked in his suit before dropping to his knees.

“You, too.”

Rogers grinned, all crooked and smug, and Mark cursed himself for not looking away.

“I’m gonna find someone for Ian,” Rogers said, and Mark frowned, thrown for a moment before Rogers kept going. “Tomorrow night, at the bachelor party. He’s gonna go home with someone and then you and I are gonna catch up for real.”

“You’re drunk,” Mark said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but I mean it. He said he won’t be angry as long as, you know.” Rogers looked around at the people around them, at least sober enough not to be too graphic. “He told me before.”

“Did he?”

Rogers nodded, still smiling like an idiot. Mark wanted to drag him away.

“I have to leave on Sunday, right after the party. So it has to be tomorrow night,” Rogers went on.

“We’re on a schedule then?”

Rogers’ smile slipped off his face and he looked at Mark, jaw set.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“Okay.” Mark pushed him away, a hand flat on Rogers’ chest. “If you still feel the same way tomorrow, let me know.”

“If I do, you’ll say yes?”

Mark pretended to think about it, even though he didn’t know how anyone would believe he’d hesitate to say yes. Rogers still stared at him in anticipation, eyes dark.

“Yeah,” Mark finally said. “I guess I will.”

Rogers smiled again, and then Hannah Rogers was there, pulling Mark up for a hug and Dan was bounding back, Ian at his heels. Soon they were surrounded by people, talking and cheering with their glasses held up high and offering them drinks.

Mark turned back to Jessica’s smiling face and tuned everyone else out.

The night couldn’t be over fast enough.  

_\--_

Mark woke up the following morning to a text from Rogers.

_Sorry if i was gross last night._

Disappointment didn’t have time to settle in Mark’s gut before his phone was buzzing with another message.

_I still feel the same way tho..._

_You?_

Mark stared down at the screen, bleary-eyed and still half asleep. Maybe it was the fact that his brain hadn’t woken up properly yet, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with Rogers’ idea right then.

_yes_


End file.
